i am peter pan and growing pains. sometimes
i lie awake at night
running circles in my head. my thoughts
get out of breath about 5 miles in.
i am separation anxiety, quick to talk
about leaving, but never quite ready
but you—at 6:30 in the morning, your voice
is the milky way. your voice
is like falling asleep to the sound
of summer rain. you
are everlasting, a crimson heart
with a metronome that will last us through Christmas.
sometimes i’m afraid i only have enough
to get us through tomorrow.
i am learning myself in more ways than i can say.
this is a revolution, a realignment of my stars;
i will get lost in my own fire,
and i will glow unashamed.