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comatose.i never told you:i hated the way you smelledlike winter, likefog or listerine orsomething long forgotten.i guess i miss you the wayi miss brooklyn,all thirsty for a song i've never heard, pining fora place i've never been. homesick.--i never told you:i keep your old promises all tucked up inside,like bruises sleeping fallowalong my hipbones.i promise i'll love you always, i promisei'll fix the coffee machine tomorrow,and if you let me,i'll fix you well, you never were a fixer.what you are is tired, and you never understoodwhy this fucked-up little townunmade its bed, swallowed an ambien,swallowed you. listen:we were always comatose, clutchingat bedsheets,hands gone coldand quiet.
For My DaughterDear daughter-I-do-not-have-yet,You will be my perfect. You will be my proudest moments in one small person. You will be made in love, or maybe anger, or maybe even desperation. But that won't matter. What matters is what you will be made into.You will have Daddy's hair and his nose, and my eyes and my smile, the smile that happens not because someone with a camera told you to, but because you're genuinely happy. But you will have your very own heart and will be full of all the things that give you your you-ness. Whether you sing in the bath or make Valentines for everyone in your class or give your last homemade chocolate chip cookie to the boy sitting alone at recess.I will write you poems and stories about how you are my miracle. I will read them to you sometimes, just to remind you. As you grow, not a day will go by that I'm not thankful for everything you are. You will be dazzling and beautiful and brilliant and compassionate and playful and curious and all of the things