It’s Not You. It’s Me.
Loving a prisoner
“There is no great Hell than to be a prisoner…”
— Ben Jonson
you’re the one behind bars,
but it’s me who is a prisoner
warm tears kiss my cheeks nightly
because you aren’t here to do just that,
and i hug myself tightly in a tiny ball until i fall asleep
because i crave your touch, your embrace, YOU,
but no one can touch me but you
and i guess now me, too
i await your calls,
no matter how many hours pass me by like clouds on an otherwise clear day,
no matter how many details of my life slip through my fingers as i forget what’s even important anymore by the time you call,
no matter what i could be doing instead of waiting to just hear your goddamn voice,
no matter how much money it costs to even speak to you,
even if it’s just for a few minutes
but you know what?
those two minute phone calls shred my heart to pieces i can’t explain
but only feel,
because it’s a reminder that you’re the one who has to call me,
and no matter what i need to tell you,
i can only wait patiently for you to be free enough to call me,
and sometimes we only have time for an “I love you.”
that’s it…
we have two hours every week allotted to chat and hug and share two kisses,
that’s it…
you know by now,
i know more cat more than i even know you —
her move, her meow, her schedule, her cuddles, her breaths, her stares
i grieved alone once, twice, three times, four times,
all because you were behind bars,
and life goes on without you,
and apparently, so does death
and i mask my true feelings around anyone close to me except you,
because i just don’t want to explain myself to any ear but yours,
and so i weep silently as if my life is fine and dandy
even though it’s anything but these days
you have people around you to play chess and share jokes and talk about life,
and i have my little baby keet when i’m off work
i died a little bit inside the day you called me from jail
and again when you called me from prison
and then again when you were denied house arrest
and yet again when you were denied parole the first time
but i put on a fake smile when i answered the phone,
trying to be strong for you and tell you everything will be okay
and that everything happens for a reason
and how fucking proud i am of you
because I AM fucking proud of you
even if it hurts my essence that you’re in there
and i’m out here
if you loved me,
why’d you leave me?
some days, i don’t get it at all
yet others, i get it completely:
you weren’t ready to be free when you were,
so i pray to a God i don’t believe in that you’re ready this time
loving you is not a choice,
but staying with you through this is,
and i stand by every choice i’ve ever made with you,
because you’re worth it, baby
i miss you more than i can ever explain:
my heart yearns for yours,
and i love you more than i can even wrap my mind around:
it’s a love that will last forever,
that i know
loving a prisoner is hands down the hardest thing i’ve ever done,
and that includes you, my love (HAHA!),
but i’m also coming to fully know myself through all of this
and what i want and what i need and what i can handle and how strong and also how weak i truly am
and through this whole process?
i’m realizing i’m the one in prison,
not being able to be held by my lover on a rainy day,
not being able to give my love a birthday present,
not being able to send a “good morning” text from work,
not being able to fall asleep in arms that aren’t my own,
not being able to tell the world who i love without judgment and questions and scared looks,
not being able to call YOU,
not being able to jump in your arms and plant my lips atop yours
fuck man, i miss those luscious lips of yours
i miss you.
and i love you.
and i know things will be easier.
and i know this will all be worth it.
can you imagine how strong we will be after all this?
i wouldn’t dare do this with anyone else.
i fucking love you.
that’s all…
you’re the one behind bars,
but it’s me who is a prisoner—
and of my own choosing,
but don’t worry baby,
i’ll be okay soon.
and it’ll all be worth it.
for now?
i’m okay.
so don’t worry about me.
i’m doing the best i can.
isn’t that what we all do, all the time?
