by Ghanaperu

Do you know how many times
I have moved?
Sometimes I count them on my fingers,
fistful after fistful of tears
swollen in my throat and I try
to remember every single one
but I can’t.

Too many.
Too many times, it’s the only
number that fits the emotion
and I know
this won’t make sense to you but
my hands are full of this
place now and I can’t hold any more.

When I open my palms the memories
are dripping out and I’m
afraid if I stay longer I will
forget.

I don’t want to forget.

Do you know how many times
I have moved?
When I sleep I dream of
muted whispers in languages
you don’t speak and when I wake up
I write songs about the dusty grass
of places you’ve never been
and sometimes when you hold my hand
I imagine the worlds I have known
imprinted on my palm,
burning you in your ignorance.
How could anyone expect you to love
something as fragmented as me?

I tried, I really tried
to unclench my fists of memories,
to open up my hands and belong.
But every time I look at my palm
I see the lines of roads leading other
places and I can’t stop tracing them,
can’t stop aching to leave.
I can’t be part of a whole world;
everything is random moments
and I am disconnected from the
planned future.

I’m not here to stay. I’m never
here to stay.

You asked me tonight to go out
with you, tired grin through voice
texting and I wanted
to say no.

But instead I said yes and I drove
on these winding roads that never
lead to other places and I opened
my hands to you. I stayed
another day, I spilled a few more
memories and let you matter a
little bit more – I loved.

Do you know how many times
I have moved?

Too many, it’s the only answer
that fits and when I tell you
I love you I want you to think
of that. I don’t know how to be
a part of just one world, how to
hold your hand and love and
be loved without being
burned by the smallness of the story.

Staying here is like being
trapped, and I value freedom.
But even more than freedom,
I value you.

This is a TCK’s love poem, telling
you how badly I want to leave in hopes
that you will understand how
deeply you matter…

It’s okay if you don’t understand.

There is a vast difference
between us, a Sahara Desert of
sandy separation but I’m trying
(please tell me you can see
that I’m trying)
not to keep my distance.

It’s my desert. And every day I stay
the liquid memories leak out
of my hands into the sand and I think,
I think,
new life is growing here.
New life, small and green
and fragile, hopeful and timid.

So I will grow a trail of oasis
across this desert, copy for you
the map of roads on my palms
and let you destroy this distance
I have always kept.

But I’m not making promises.

One day I will add another
number to “too many” and I
will shut my fists tight around
these memories and I will leave.

But today is not one day,
and for now I am busy growing
life in a desert
with you.

Just don’t
keep your distance,
and I won’t keep mine.

small yellow flower growing in desert

Other spoken word poetry by Ghanaperu:
Hello, Hello
If I Could Change I Would