Late at night I want to scream into my pillow
and cry a little thinking about all of the people
I’m never going to get to be in love with or
even meet, that they’re only ever going to be
people I pass in the street, that there are men
I’d like to hold while they told me about calculus
and calculate the things they could have done
with their lives if they’d tried a little harder.
This life is not long enough for me to take
advantage of all the lives I want to live,
and the people I want to get to know,
and sometimes I shrink under the weight
of the world when I think about how socially
unacceptable it is to tell someone you’ve
only just met that their eyes remind you of
your childhood, and their hands look like ones
you’d want to hold you late at night when
you want to scream into your pillow.
And I don’t think it’s fair how we trap people
in our hearts like butterflies in cocoons,
we think we can make them into something
much more beautiful if we keep holding them
captive, but what if we loved in smaller doses,
held everyone as close as our lovers,
loved so well that everyone felt like our lovers?
Sometimes late at night, when I should be
saying my prayers, I swear that I can hear my bones
straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living
and the people I’m not loving.