tangles.

you are an ocean away
built like a shield,
body built like a mask.

you tell me you're okay.
tell me you're stable,
you're holding me up, so
you can't fall down.

but sometimes i know it's tempting.

so i say prayers for your decisions,
fingers folded like my rib cage
i am heaving,
breathing words
like tears

like stop being afraid
of crying.
you act strong like wood,
but i see worried wrinkles
like tree bark,
like  furrows in their trunk,
in their branches, in your brow.

you need to know
that judgement isn’t a side-dish
to your vulnerability.

i imagine the word ‘fear’
written along the curves of your feet,
and ‘escape’ along your heels,

but i am this close
to setting traps
to tripping up your feet
to tangling your limbs
and your words,
tangling your thoughts
to make you stay a moment
and realize

you don’t have to be okay
for me.