sometimes i want you to feel the way i felt
as a teenager smoking weed in my closet
afraid of being caught
but knowing that wasn’t very likely
(because my parents never noticed
the smell of marijuana smoke)

i also want you to
keep me in your back pocket
where i can sleep for several years
and only wake up when you sit down
or when it gets too clammy
but if i took a melatonin and fell into a deep sleep
i probably wouldn’t even notice
and i wouldn’t wake up until you pried me out
as my hands gripped the corners of denim.

when you’re asleep and i’m awake
i feel jealous of you
because your body is doing what it’s supposed to do at 3am.
i stare at the ceiling,
counting the cracks on the walls,
wishing the room was smaller,
wishing i were smaller,
wishing there was a television in here
so i could watch late night comedy,
so i could do something other than stare at my phone,
switching from social media app to social media app
until either i get tired enough to close my eyes or
the sun comes up and wakes you.

when i die i hope the last thing i see
is a moth eagerly floating towards what it thinks is a light bulb
but is really the glow of a computer monitor.

Rebecca Upton is a poet from New Hampshire. Her work has been published in Maudlin House, Sea Foam Mag, and tenderness, yea. You can find more of her work at cracked-moth.tumblr.com.