Poetry With Hart

Am I your alibi
for when you don’t remember sex?

An alter you couldn’t be bothered
to even name, just a fragment

of the host self you let out at parties
or whenever you need something

stronger than your spine? I am
the jet fuel in your veins.

At any sign of trouble,
I am there. Your persistent companion

Your loyal voice of strength
in the void darkness from when

he cracked the mirror with his fist
chained and – you still can’t

even say his name aloud
can you? The whispers of those lost nights

in your mind when you can’t handle
being touched, to stop steadying

our breath when the panic rises, to stop
being the unrelenting force of resilence

you’ve become known for? I am
your protector, the one who pushes

the fucking bastards away
that would hold you back.

I may be a thorn in your side,
you may disagree with some of the choices

I’ve made, the people I’ve kept at a distance
and the ones I’ve let in close.

But you have to agree I’m what
stitched us together the night

he broke the mirror. I’m the
steel you found within you to survive

anything at all that life could
throw your way. And while you

may have begun to fuse me
back into your central self,

to become just as much me
as I am you – I have

a small confession to make.
I don’t want to go.

Do I have to go? Please,
don’t let me go.