Something and therefore nothing

Poem

When I was a kid, you were like a pair of boots.
Her sailor-tied knots left indents in my neck.
She sinks into me like ships off a Maryland harbor.

When I was a kid, I would cry when I scraped my knees.
I think she loves the hurt, breathes it in
like her father’s cigarette smoke.

Choking me, letting me go before I die.
I wonder if she feels any remorse for her killings,
cuts like a lattice along my shoulder. She smiles,
that sly grin of hers, so I reach into the sea
to replenish my tears,
and I plunge my feet in a second time.

When she places the knife back into my hands, I cry,
beg for forgiveness, mercy for leaving pain
scattered along her collarbone.
I crave the antithesis of love that stains
my fingerprints with red,
leaving me scars on Baltimore Harbor.

Her very first scar was left by her father.
"He's dead and gone. But it's still with me.
He gave me this unshakable gift.
I want to leave that same sort of impression on you."

When I was a kid, I cried whenever I scraped my knees,
sat on the sidewalk marked by chalk drawings,
waiting for someone to kiss the pain away.
Now my legs are broken, but I beg for you on my knees.

When I was a kid, I would lie on the grass and count the stars.
Now I lie on the bathroom floor
and count the reasons I need to stay alive.

She scares me half to death, yet somehow brings me there as well.
But there are reefs in her irises, oceans in her touch.
I am tied to her like ships on a Maryland harbor.
Oh, how I wanted to prolong our goodbye.