this won't (will) hurt

to my dismay i've gotten worse
at crying. i crave driving alone.
i know i have been tricked into thinking
that it is some kind of freedom
but sometimes you have to
turn your brain off & playlist yourself
as far away from your front door as 
possible. once i stopped at a yard sale
that was only purses. they were
all very ugly but i bought one & decided
it would be my lung. there i keep
all the things i can't say. for me,
to be loved is to be kept. i have lived
in a closet for years, letting a man 
slide plates of spaghetti beneath the door.
sometimes we'd eat by candlelight
& i'd believe things were going to change.
i buy a canoe & burry it in the yard
one day when it's just me & the dogs. 
it'll be there if i need it. i don't use
my lung to breathe. on the contrary,
i use it to wait. if you hold on to a truth
too long it becomes a knife. if you hold on
to a knife too long it becomes a door. 
a dream in which i run & you do not
chase me. once we argued & my mouth filled
with bees. i only have myself to blame.
once i poured water in my eyes in the hopes
it would make them remember 
how to be a fountain. instead, autumn 
came early. instead, you hear my eyes 
talking in all the words they're not supposed
to use. "help" & "love me." we took them out
& washed them together like potatoes
in the big kitchen sink. 
i apologized for being terrible 
& you told me, "do not do this again." 
i held the lung like a baby bat that night.
put it away before you saw. felt the canoe
turning in the dirt like a zombie.