3:30

maybe tomorrow i will wake
and feel familiarity
in my fingertips once again
lately i have not been able to
shake the feeling that
my skin covers a stranger’s body
that i am nothing more
than tissue covering bones
that belong to someone else

i am collapsing under
the weight of april
i can drink another cup of coffee
and pretend like i’m not thinking
not about when you leave
your 3:30 pm shift
but my body isn’t warmed
through the heat in the mug
like it used to be in your arms

i am rambling
constantly vomiting words
to fill the silence
thinking that if i talk long enough
i can recreate your hands from the letters
the ones we never sent

my dad speaks softly on the phone
he pretends like he can’t hear
my choking back tears
we both know it’s for my sake

my heart is on exhibit at the museum
everyone is critiquing the artist for
too much negative space