Pour

For always
Never important
Never priority
Subordinate
Subprime
Back burner
Bottom of the list
I’ll grab hold
Take responsibility
Accountability
Hold space
The short straw
Give time; life; my life
They need time
Time to decide
Time to process
Time to grow
Time to transmit data
I’ll wait in line—
Be quiet
Patient
Cradled in shadows
With the stone on my throat
Making silent melody with the stab in my belly
I feel it, no one need see
Been well trained to hold my breath anyway
With my head shoved under water  
A well-conditioned good fucking girl
Like my parents taught me
Everyone and everything else first
I’ll make the calls
Reply to the letters
Sweep crumbs
Stitch the damage—
I’m handy with a needle ‘n’ thread
Make the appointments
Make the sacrifices
Oh, you need to change that? No problem (just mine, and the inconvenience)
No passive aggression, it’s just that thing they say—it is what it is, right?
I have an abundance of acceptance
Another letter through the mailbox
Hits the floor with a thud
Cracks the concrete
They want more blood
To be sure? Another vile
Chemical markers spelling suspicion in code
I’ve to chase another system
While smiling reassuring to a stranger
‘I’ll take care of you’
Natalie, was it? No, Nicola
Sure, my name doesn’t matter either
I’ll wait again
Until doors open
Queues thieve more time
Window B for blood
More waiting in line
Another process
Chasing a letter they’ll claim not to have—
Again
Like that text—
It all feels the same
More blood
More time
More life (mine)
And I remember the lover who gifted their blood to me—
That was a far gone yesterday
The eyes lied like love does
Those are running out
I’m drowning
I’ll continue to tread water
Like those eggshells
Cutting my soul 
I should have fucking gills by now 
From all the slices
The little fishes gnaw
We’re intimately acquainted 
Maybe I’d feel lonely if they weren’t pulling
Little chunks from my flesh
It tickles when they tear skin
With tiny pinching teeth—
I laugh - nervous - must be fine 
How could I ever be alone
With them there
Grazing my ribs, 
Drawing blood that colours the ocean
I’m filling up the tub
Making rainbows
And watching stars die.
It’s ok; it’s always ok; or is that fine?
—The fine line.
I don’t need a thing. 
Why am I here again?
Not sure it was printed in the letter.
Dying to be free
Maybe that’s the missing line. 
A conclusion
Because I should have said something sooner, right?