ninety three

everything hurts less like a stab wound and more like a stroke
i feel the aftershocks of a disaster i've already survived
and yet
it still hurts like the first day
somewhere buried underneath the calluses on my fingers from playing guitar and letting go of lyrics i might not sing again for weeks
there are songs i sang twice and haven't since
and
there are ones still a part of me.
for now i am letting things be
in the hopes that
my leap of faith won't have to be one that requires a porch
or a tree
or a glancing up at the empty sky hoping for stars
i pray that He won't give me a message that involves
reluctant tears
bittersweet
and something i can't put into words
for once, couldn't someone else take the first step so i won't be haunted by the street signs along the way?
step one
find a porch
step two
break me if you have to
step three
hug me if you have to
but a warning:

don't leave me to suppose you're thinking something you're not
or going somewhere you aren't

please