Things That Don't Fit (Slam Poetry)


I can’t quite figure out how to fit everything I am into you. Fit all the time into all the rooms of all the people I have ever loved. Sometimes I wonder why it’s worth it and then I’m alone and someone is talking into my ear from 438 miles away. I can’t sleep and I can’t stay awake and I have no appetite or want for water but all I know is I have not had my daily intake of home today. The tears keep falling. Maybe I need to put down the phone before I drown you.

This city does not fit me. I drive down roads that only sometimes have a second lane. And I know I have never considered myself a city girl or a social butterfly or even needed more than a front yard but I know I need more than this. More? That might be selfish to say; there are people that would be lucky to live here. But this is so far from what I am used to, they say it is helping me grow, I am growing down into the dirt and I don’t want to be rooted here.

I don’t fit my skin. I can’t quite figure out how much I want to pour into everywhere I’ve been, when I can’t even pour into myself. I split into tiny little pieces and when I put them back together I can’t find more than half of who I was. I push months, centuries, seconds under a microscope slide and I can’t make them big enough to matter or small enough to be home soon. I can’t fit myself into somewhere I don’t know and I can’t make small enough pieces of time to fit into everywhere I want to love. I can’t fit love into time. I come home to something that’s mine but it doesn’t feel like mine. You are what’s mine. I need to come home to arms I can wrap around me. I need to come home

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Written 5/30/19

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