Leaving the Door Wide Open

I am receding tides.

I kill whales.

I flake out on turtles.

And neatly folded laundry.

Terrifying, disaster-on-the-brink

perfection.

I am the the house you grew up in,

a cold, distant memory,

a lasting inflection.

And spilled coffee on white cloth

precipitous, uninvited

impression.

I am all the times 

I said too much,

loved too much,

left too much.

All the times I held my heart out

like kindling,

willing the smallest spark

to kill me,

to be done with me

and all the letters I swore 

I'd never send.

For the most part,

I'm a train ride home.

A baseball bat to the nose.

I'm pulled teeth.

Darling, I know

I'm hard to love,

but whatever I am

you can be the rest

of me.