a jar

My skin starts to rust,

even at the thought of being 
pushed across the shelf to collect dust and keep
 the memories of a childhood, like I’m an outgrown doll

and silence settles in the corner of my ears and
 the last yesterday we’ll have together fades with 
the orange evening sky.

My lips dry up like the desert, 
and somehow I still can’t imagine what it’s like to be a cactus
—or maybe I do.

Every rose has thorns and bones can be broken
and hearts may be mended

and the hope I collect in jars
 all have your name written on them as if I will someday
convince myself that the dreams contained inside my 
tiny soul exist for a reason and that reason all along 
has been you but the moment you make me question 
my worth should the very second I say goodbye

because there’s no man deserving of my tears-yet-or is there any? You?

I keep holding on as if there’s a sliver of possibility 
for you to see me in the light I’ve begged you to look
 into,

and the countless stars I’ve wished on,

to make
 the distance fade away fall from the night sky and into 
the jars with your name.

someday I’ll realize you were 
nothing but a fantasy inside a dream I once had ..

am i?

i don't think so.

all written in a jar that contained your name, your single call.