"You Saw Yourself in Me

and You Wanted to Die" by Kat Giordano
 

this is the only thing people like us can be

to each other: burning

houses to go sprinting into, trying

to save something neither of us know how

to name. no need when we can close

our eyes, trace the same shapes

with our hands, bathe the same bloody dagger

in sunlight, convinced it’s a flower.

 

what do we tell them?

it’s like squinting into dark water and seeing

yourself in miniature. you think,

as if by instinct, i hope it can breathe in there,

and that’s the first time you realize

you love it. it’s like astral-projecting

above your own movie, silently

willing yourself to cut the right wire,

breathe air, drink water,

consider that throwing yourself

on that serrated edge will not love it

into softness.

 

it’s you chain-smoking on my back porch,

saying you wish you were more

like the person i am with you.

 

it’s me saying me too

and meaning it.