childservices:

Honey, I contoured the kids

writingsforwinter:

In June I was stung by so many wasps that it felt like the pain

of giving birth without local anesthesia. That was the summer I learned

a man once flew to the moon in his astronaut’s suit with the intent

of staking a foreclosure sign in the dust because he’d grown up

knowing the moon as his only true love and was reluctant

to share it with anyone else. But sharing is exactly why

I’ve always had a habit of flitting from man to man like a moth-

because in each new person I fall in love with,

there’s a tiny bit of the person who fell in love with them before me.

In Benjamin I found Veronica, who always liked to sleep

with her covers off to catch a breeze, and Paul, who was born

with a permanent slur that made strangers feel special

because it appeared he was drunk on their mere existence.

Permanence is terrifying. That’s why every year I get

a new tattoo inked in my shoulderblades-because one name

etched on my skin is simply not enough.

Not just Benjamin’s name will do; I want Veronica’s and Paul’s too.

The June I was stung by wasps, each small pain

was a hurt akin to watching a lover leave, and leaving

with all their previous lovers too-goodbyes have always been

my biggest weakness, because they mean saying farewell

to more than just the person with their hand on the doorknob.

Scientists have proven, through surveys and EEG machines,

that some people fall in love as many as seven times before marriage.

Maybe they should study me then-

because every time I fall in love with someone,

I fall in love with everyone who loved them or was loved by them too.