By Drea Sebastiano-Stanley
Too much of yourself,
you couldn’t contain
So you filled me up like your vessel.
From top to bottom, I felt your pulse
I carried your heart
I breathed your air.
You inflated me
To leave me empty
But still, I come completely voided and ask…
At first, I fell out of your hands
But we both knew,
you broke me.
Held me at great heights,
For your hands to become,
Onto the floor,
fragments of me lay
Some parts have broken into a white chalk, a light powder,
too fine to find,
or put back together.
Their grains stain my finger tips
Absorbed into the floor or floats in the air like dust…
Freed from me,
but also freed from you.
I scavenge to pick up the pieces I do find
Desperately, like a greed,
I hold them close to me.
You merely blink as I whimper,
Me and my pieces,
Some dropping from my clutch
and back onto the floor, separating further.
My grasp stronger on the ones I do have, as to not lose them.
Their edges once so blended, my make-up,
Are now jared and sharp..
They cut into my hand as I hold them close to my chest.
I think for a moment about letting them go
To be left with nothing.
The other hand helps me crawl to you and I ask…
I ask to be held.
Drea occasionally is a commentary writer, poet, and stand-up comedian. She frequently has a problem with committing to “labels” and resides in Seattle, WA…for now. Follow her journey on Instagram (@dreadomenica). Read about her experience of relationships defining her perception of sex and sexuality and the “fair-weathered” acceptance of both the gay and straight communities to her “coming out” into the grey area that is bisexuality in her blog post, The Bi-Stander: “Pick a side, already!”.