runaway

i’m not tired, but my hurt is tied to my ankles and drags along wherever i go like in that old movie i saw, where a little black boy was dragged by a car with the rope around his neck. i want to cry. can i say i should be happy? can i say i think of burrowing under large cites and creating a gaping hole that collapses all the buildings, all the cars and sidewalks and benches and litter and people until they realize they have not the power they once thought hung over their shoulders like a cape, over their heads like a crown. i’m struggling to find someone to understand me because i don’t want to be alone, because it’s scary when i have everything to fear about myself. there are letters addressed to me and i wonder how they know where i live and when they say “home” i think of the dark of the cinema and the flicker of the stair lights. i held his hand there, i watched his face like the moon. never a full, i was always saying goodnight and sweet dreams, i love you but she was a star and i was the earth and he wanted to inch away from me. i never mattered.