[the art of punctuation]

you are my question mark
the parentheses around my mouth
trap coordinated conjunctions
my lips stitched with
dashes of trepidation
it was in those moments
when you were gone
that i wished
i would never have to
wonder again
dots of pregnant pause
quaking readily between us
we probably make no sense
anyway
sometimes it’s hard to
tell what my brittle hands
have been feeling
they haven’t felt much
in the past three years
burned by the cold
arms that i once fell into
i know
it’s completely absurd to
think that they could speak
but it’s true
i’ve heard them whisper
they miss you
of course i never really
had you
still
they miss and type the
wrong things and touch
the wrong people
but it’s all because they miss
and you should have given
them a chance
they say
constant quotations
fray from my nails
as they scratch the air
but that’s beside the point
for once i was happy
with myself
i realized why
i could never convey
why you looked past me
you were my exclamation point
and i was just a comma