The Ones Who Stayed

If ever you have stood

at the edge of a roof, and pondered

how the air’s hands might feel

combing through your limbs as you fell

this poem is for you.


If ever you visited the Golden Gate Bridge

and no one really knows why, but you say

you’ll never go back again

if ever you’ve scared yourself out of enjoying

the multitudinous chorus of waves,

take these words; they are yours


You’ve collected reasons not to stay,

pills like particularly lovely pebbles from the creekside

razor blades in the lining of your sock drawer

but you’re still here:

my heart is yours


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