i think often of what i am worth in bounties—
what would you trade for my teeth back,

cleaned? what would you borrow to bring me
home? what would even be home enough

for me and another person to both know it?
i am laughed out of my own voice when i am

worried i am not worth it enough to talk about
but i mean it, would you bury me if you had to?

last week my friends’ faces swarmed out
of the news—tell me, when did you become

afraid of me? once i asked you what
your mother called me and you said she

didn’t—once your body antonym-ed me
into everyone else and i won’t lie, it

felt like waking up—i want you to hide
me in your closet on a bank holiday

again– i wrote the book on self-helping
myself—if i say run, will you, or ask

how far? if i tell you i love you, will you

say it back? i’m sorry for all the fucked up

shit i did when i didn’t know how to hold
a grudge softly—i wish the names i tried

on didn’t gutpunch so cleanly—i wish
you didn’t sound like an alarm going off—