IF I COULD UNBECOME MYSELF

 if I could unbecome myself 

estefaaano_writes 

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if I could unbecome myself today,

soften every sharp edge that cuts you,

I would dissolve like sugar in your mouth.

I would remake my mind

into something that catches light,

like a mirror that reflects only

what you want to see looking back.

but I am not half of anything.

I am the whole disaster,

the complete wreckage of wanting

someone who sleeps like forgetting.

You are Sunday morning incarnate;

sheets twisted around your ribs like prayer,

sunlight writing love letters across your chest.

when I watch you breathe,

my lungs forget their purpose.

the air turns thick as honey,

and I am drowning in the golden.

I am asphalt under July heat,

untouchable; burning.

You are cool skin and careful distance,

close enough to scorch, never to soothe.

what if I became smaller?

what if I learned the art of absence,

let you choose me like picking flowers—

careful not to bruise the petals?

but becoming is a myth.

I cannot change brown eyes to blue,

cannot alter this hungry heart

into something that asks for less.

if I could, I would compliment

the way your sheets hold your dreams,

the way morning finds you

like it's been searching all night.

You are an unmade bed.

I want to crawl inside,

sunlight pooling in the hollow

of your throat like spilled wine.

You are the only place 

my thoughts know how to visit,

and I am the wanderer 

who never learned the language.

I am the blacktop that remembers

every footstep, every tire track,

burning black under your attention,

melting under the weight of almost.

I burn. I burn. I burn.

but burning is not being chosen.

heat is not the same as warmth,

and want is not the same as enough.