Smile

j a c o b

It's your day george.

jacob or whatever it is you go by now.

I'm yet to write your letters because I wouldn't know what being without your memory would feel like. Would I pretend you didn't exist and I fell from the sky, or it'd be peace to forget you walked the earth too.

I've been waking up tired and can't seem to get to it. I haven't touched MaryJane in days and my tongue is tied and overly wet.

I thought therapy would make me less copper and more bleach but here I am on the opposite end of counselors and artificial intelligence. It's liberating to cry george and I wished you did that with us.

The terrible is much more than the good and I can't smile when I remember you.

And when I'm asked to, bubbling rage and unspoken affirmations of love fight to the death in the depths of my stomach. I'm floored and wishing you'd drop down on bony knees to beg me to forgive you.

In your absence you hurt my mind and take apart my heart like I'm not a part of you. Your way of love is the ugliest form and I had no choice but to sit through it till you caved in on yourself like a burning house.

Your memories influence my decisions and I lose myself like a school girl with missing teeth. I pull apart the petals in my garden because I can't decide which one to plant— which one makes me feel better.

And as much as I'd like to hold onto your neck— my favorite part of you, so tightly and squeeze till you cry the river that I have, I won't. It's a special day today and I'm choosing love because this isn't about me.

The help said I should imagine you sitting in front of me and envision what I'd want to hear from decaying limbs and parched lips.

But that's a gauze I refuse to open without understanding the gravity of my injury.

And in the meanwhile

without having to ruin my skin

I'm trying to hate you less everyday.

Happy birthday.