some people cannot breathe where i live
I. inheritance
she was never lacking.
that would have been easier to forgive.
she was simply sufficient.
sufficient in style.
sufficient in thought.
sufficient in kindness
when kindness was convenient.
she lived in careful colors.
tones designed not to linger
in anyone’s memory
longer than politeness requires.
she did not wound the air
by becoming too much.
i have never possessed that talent.
i have always been excessive
in ways that make small rooms nervous.
i have ruined perfectly acceptable lives
by insisting on something more alive.
there was no villain between us.
only a difference in altitude.
and altitude,
like truth,
is not negotiated.
II. shoreline
she was not cruel.
not really.
she was only built
for quieter weather
than the storms that made me.
she liked the predictable softness
of things that stayed
where they were placed.
i did not know how to stay.
i mistook movement for survival.
depth for safety.
intensity for love.
i think i frightened her.
not intentionally.
but oceans do that
to those who only ever meant
to wade.
we did not fail.
we simply arrived
as different elements.
and no matter how gently
water meets shore,
one of them
is always being changed
forever.
III. exposure
she wore sameness
like it was silk.
soft.
inoffensive.
easy to forget
once it slipped off the skin.
she wanted calm.
predictable heat.
a body that behaved.
i have never been well-behaved.
there is something in me
that mutates
the longer you touch it.
my mind does not stay still
long enough to be possessed.
my soul—
even less.
i was never meant
to be held.
i was meant
to be survived.
she wanted something
that would not change her.
and i have never known
how to love someone
without undoing them
completely.
IV. extinction event
i am not easy to keep.
not because i am cruel—
but because i refuse
to stop becoming.
there is no fixed version of me
you can memorize
and expect to survive beside.
i change
the way fire changes things.
quietly at first.
then all at once.
i have a mind
that does not stay in its cage.
a heart
that does not negotiate
with fear.
a soul
that would rather be alone
than be reduced.
i have tried, before,
to live smaller.
to fold myself
into acceptable shapes.
to sand down my edges
until i was safe
to touch.
but every time,
something in me
began to die.
so i stopped apologizing
for my depth.
i stopped explaining
my hunger.
i stopped asking
for permission
to evolve.
now,
if you stand beside me,
understand this:
you are standing beside
a life
that chose itself.
there is nothing
more beautiful than that.
and nothing
that leaves less behind
when it’s gone.
