Outta my blood

maybe this ache in my veins

comes from every holiday

that I go home

and my blood don’t listen

and my blood keep talkin’

round in circles–

we’re glad you’re here,

have you planned your future yet?

We’re glad you’re here,

what’s with your hair this year?

And I keep

reading and writing

mostly for myself

but hoping it’ll touch somebody else too

‘cept maybe it’s not enough

for just any someone to hear

maybe

it’s gotta be someone who matters,

someone who knows

enough about you

to point at the place in your heart

where the words came from

for you to feel found;

like, how many stories will I write

that nobody knows of,

how many worlds will I make

nobody knows the lay of,

how many times

will I write about you

and answer for you as if you were here

like you’re just voices in my head–

no but I’m doing fine

without you

I don’t need you

I just need

someone else

who knows me like you used to,

someone outside the storybooks

who appreciates them

and appreciates me–

and I’m tryin’

to keep going

and I am

still going

so maybe I’m just tired

of doing it all for myself

all of the time,

since my heart thinks

maybe

it’d be nice

to make something

for once

for someone

who loves it.

That’s all.