i am willing to be honest with myself;

i can

for the first time

say factually

that i know you.

i know you more than

knowing you don't like peas

(pickles, no longer of that list

(you're welcome)).

i know you more than

the cringe of hearing your

mother say your name,

more than fears, more than

recounted better years,

more than how much more you

loved her.

i know

now

that you are an unlovable coward.

i know that you are

terrified of everything.

i know that somewhere

within you

there is a hole,

a tiny chasm that i once filled

and in that completion,

you were unburdened--

you slept and dreamed

and sang,

then panicked,

flailed

until 

you found

i no longer fit.

i know

you've grown tired of poetry

and running as far

as your flopping feet can take you--

just know

that i'm not

fucking chasing.