soft, the version you didn't see

Subject: soft, the version you didn't see
From: i'll be waiting in the tree
Date: 8 Apr 2019

how to start this email?
how to start anywhere?


you didnt do anything wrong
you didnt do anything wrong


i found trouble
in a balance with you of
too soft and close
too hard and distant

but i am not
a scale

someone said
what i needed to hear
and i think i get it now

i keep saying that
i got it
this time
i got this
and i never do
have it

i tell you
and i cry

because im soft

im distant
because i am not
content with what i have
and i cant
push you
i push me

i know youre sledding

i know you wont respond

i think

im in pieces

and thats okay

its so strange
i revolve and make
gravity of different
and life is so
warped through
every lens

i saw your
picture that you sent

i love it

i look through all
the photos
since the beginning
with the
wanna see a catholic birds boots?

and nostalgia
hit me like a
wave and
i didnt fall
i just smiled
and thats

you could ask me anything
and id respond

you could ask me anything
and id tell you

you could

im soft
even when my eyes
are empty
and my texts

im soft

i shouldnt send this
but you deserve an explanation
and i wish i could
tell you in person
but you might not want that
and things dont
work like that

im soft for you
i dont know how
not to be
and im not sure
i want to
not be

its just scary

i dont know if youre scared

i dont know whats in your head

i dont know if you think about this as much as i do

i dont know if youre in pieces

i dont know where your words are

i dont know if youve made peace with losing

i dont know if you talk to the moon

i dont know if you want to be soft

i dont know how you bear it

i dont know why you look and look away

i dont know if you know

i dont know a lot of things

i know you dont bother me

i know whenever my music cuts off my heart leaps into my throat

i know im soft

i know my tears burn like fire after every go

i know i have almost 100 drafts to you

i know im not content

i know i miss you

i know my fingers tap unsteadily at the prospect of breaking the bubble even if i want to

i know i cant sleep

i know i talk to the moon but i never hear back

i know i send things i shouldnt

i know i make things worse

i know the sadness painted on your face is my doing and i hate it

i know being angry at you is like suffocation which i know well

i know i am on a seesaw

i know i check my phone far too often

i know ive broken pencil after pencil and then put the pieces in a pile

i know i write poetry that could stop stars

i know my fingers are broken

i know i am drunk on moonlight and drunk on memory

i know i know too much

i know this hurts but i cant seem to stop myself

i know

i know

ive got this

now go