Sh(ak)e in my Sleep
All I remember is the lights dim from
fake candles cuz you always hated to sleep
in the dark for reasons that I still don’t really know
but I guess that I didn’t really ask and I
guess I really should have asked but I
imagine that I still paid attention
You would grab my hands that were clinched in fists,
far from you but much closer to me
or the pillow that was beside us
because I was SO so so
afraid of being my uncle at that point.
I was so
afraid of you being another victim of what I had seen
and wished great death upon.
I would start with my feet And
as a kid, a baby really,
I would always switch my feet rubbing them together
as if they were to start a fire
outside my body
that I was already feeling
inside my body
that was much less of a fire but
more like something
that would burn this bitch down
It would creep up to my breath and it began
to sound like an engine of an old polar express ass train that
I couldn’t control as if something
was DEEP deep deep
inside that wanted to come out but
really couldn’t no matter how much
I allowed myself to cry.
I couldn’t shout because we had like 6 roommates
and I didn’t want to shout anyways
but now sometimes I do want to. But I still can’t because I take BART to work
and I live next to my landlord at home.
You would grab my hands again and feel them trembling
as if I had pulled that very thing
I was afraid of into two and the strength that it took to rip it
apart was still inside of me just waiting to be summoned
again, but like for real next time.
I would be unconscious the whole time but I could still hear
you calmly and invitingly ‘Shhh’
me to sleep like I was your baby or
baby brother or
whomever you were to take care of that night.
I was not your boyfriend. I
was your baby. I
was not your man. I
was your project. I
was not your lover. I
was your breaker. So
of course it was easy to leave this shit. You
couldn’t even sleep at night.
You had some things to attend to.
I shook the first night but I don’t think that you noticed. And I
get it, because, I
mean, we were best friends and you
had felt my hugs so many times so
to finally be next to that same body
in a resting place in my father's house
of course you wouldn’t really mind it or
digest it as something that was different.
There really is no protagonist in our story but I
like to believe that we
are both the main character of some bullshit that
ended the complete opposite of a love story and I
guess was pretty much scoped out from the beginning,
because throughout it all you
could say the same. Damn. thing.
We. Were. Shaky.