what i want you to know

i drink tea now.
i guess i just came
to appreciate more
                 subtle tastes
which is why i could no longer
stomach us.
i don't laugh the same,
braying to drown out
how silently uncomfortable i am;
i don't shield my belly
with my arms anymore;
i don't look at the ground
as much when i walk.

what's remained the same is
i'm still not very good at math.
what's changed is i don't mind.
here are some things you
should know:
the first night i slept beside him,
in his borrowed bed,
he watched me slide my pants off
like a sailor observing a mermaid
shed her scales, parched mouth
and wide eyes hoping i'd step
onto his patch of land.
you think i meant to hurt you
by choosing him — that's not fair.
you should also know:
a lot of the things you thought
were not fair.
a lot of the things you said to me
were not fair.
what's different is i don't believe
them anymore.

our big mistake was that summer
where i still let myself believe
i belonged to you, let myself
lie acidic and salty underneath
your tongue,
where we regretfully murmured
love into each other's mouths
soured with spiced rum.
my mistake was letting you believe
that you could keep my horizon
pressed between your pages.
my mistake was trying to convince
myself that i belonged stuffed
in your tiny one-window room
where you always hid the sky
behind slated blinds;
that the shame you made me feel
was simply my natural state of being
and i should keep striving to temper
myself into a tranquil pane of glass.
that night you cornered me drunk
in the kitchen and asked me
where my heart was, the choppiness
of my affections troubling you,
my mistake was not telling you
that my heart was drifting toward him
because he looked at me
like something wondrous and wild
and whispered,
"you...are so vast."
my mistake was not telling you
that your hoping my intoxication
would make me tell the truth
was stupid, because i still lied,
because i can keep things in the deepest
blackest reaches of me.


what's remained the same is i am an ocean.
what's different is i know
you were hurting,
and i know you felt like
your mind had sunk beneath you,
and i know you overcompensated
with maps and charts and surety
that you could traverse me—
but you should know:
you never even left my shallows.
you should know:
you did not own me.
he never tried.
what's different is i know this now,
what's different is i own me.