I Will Not Leave You

Maybe it’s like I’m pushing a giant boulder up a mountain,

and I’m watching you stand and pick at your fingernails,

while I bear the weight of the rock on my back.

 

Maybe,

it’s like getting sick to my stomach,

by the violent, salty waves as our ship nearly capsizes.

And maybe it’s like choking back vomit in my throat,

and gripping my nails into the wood of this ship,

while I watch you carelessly dangle your legs over the edge,

nearly asking to be swept away into the water.

But I will grit my teeth,

and I will hold on until the warm sense of exhaustion fills my bones—

and my legs feel like the love child of rubber and lead,

because I will not leave this ship.

I will not leave this.

I will not leave you.

 

I love you

I love you

I love you,

and I etched it into my skin with a tack,

and cuts can be willed away by band-aids and medicine,

but scars always stay,

they always stay.

 

So no,

I will not leave you,

I will not leave you,

I will not leave you,

I will not,

leave this ship.

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