Sh(ak)e in my Sleep

All I remember is the lights dim from

fake candles cuz you always hated to sleep

in the dark for reasons that I still don’t really know

but I guess that I didn’t really ask and I

guess I really should have asked but I

like to

imagine that I still paid attention

You would grab my hands that were clinched in fists,

far from you but much closer to me

or the pillow that was beside us

because I was SO so so

afraid of being my uncle at that point.

I was so

afraid of you being another victim of what I had seen

and heard

and wished great death upon.

I would start with my feet And

as a kid, a baby really,

I would always switch my feet rubbing them together

as if they were to start a fire

outside my body

that I was already feeling

inside my body

that was much less of a fire but

more like something

that would burn this bitch down

It would creep up to my breath and it began

to sound like an engine of an old polar express ass train that

I couldn’t control as if something

was DEEP deep deep

inside that wanted to come out but

really couldn’t no matter how much

I allowed myself to cry.

I couldn’t shout because we had like 6 roommates

and I didn’t want to shout anyways

but now sometimes I do want to. But I still can’t because I take BART to work

and I live next to my landlord at home.

You would grab my hands again and feel them trembling

as if I had pulled that very thing

I was afraid of into two and the strength that it took to rip it

apart was still inside of me just waiting to be summoned

again, but like for real next time.

I would be unconscious the whole time but I could still hear

you calmly and invitingly ‘Shhh’

me to sleep like I was your baby or

baby brother or

nephew or

whomever you were to take care of that night.

I was not your boyfriend. I

was your baby. I

was not your man. I

was your project. I

was not your lover. I

was your breaker. So

of course it was easy to leave this shit. You

couldn’t even sleep at night.

You had some things to attend to.

I shook the first night but I don’t think that you noticed. And I

get it, because, I

mean, we were best friends and you

had felt my hugs so many times so

to finally be next to that same body

in a resting place in my father's house

of course you wouldn’t really mind it or

digest it as something that was different.

There really is no protagonist in our story but I

like to believe that we

are both the main character of some bullshit that

ended the complete opposite of a love story and I

guess was pretty much scoped out from the beginning,

because throughout it all you

could say the same. Damn. thing.

We. Were. Shaky.