Secondhand Heart

To hold your body like a ticking
clock.  To break your hands
apart every hour
for a lover who will
only hold you against their
wrists in shadows,
stop giving.  Stop
forgiving those who
have never apologized, 
then naming them Almost,
then blaming yourself.
To give your open palms
like barcodes.  To wait on
worth by another’s body.
To ask why no one stays.
Why no one wants to, wants
you, chooses you first.  Well why 
refer to yourself in second person?, 
why pretend like all this Time, and 
these words, and their names, aren’t
getting heavy?, as if you never hung 
yourself up on a wall just so
someone would f*****g look at you
as if now you’re not aching with
the weight, leaving before the
answers to all these questions,
you keep asking.
Enough, I say. 
Enough.  I say enough.
I never say:
I am.