You understand worlds I do not, pull them
into words I cannot, but it is more than your brilliance
I love—
it is how you wrapped me tight, a weighted blanket
when I was spiralling, spiralling,
spiralling so dizzy I was heaving,
spinning out of control, my molecules
colliding
when you held me tight,
and made sure I was fine in the morning.
But you were always making sure I was fine
when you were soft too; and people bruised you easily; and
you carried cuts close to your chest.
And since I cannot help heal your hurt
the least I can do is
stop asking you to bandage my wounds,
hold me together
when you need strength yourself.
It’s been three weeks since we last spoke—
maybe when you held me together we also spun apart,
the beginning of the end
Grace Hui is a University of Cambridge graduate and an Asian immigrant making her home in London, where she writes free verse poetry, flash fiction, and contemporary fiction novels. Grace can often be found cooing at dogs, binge-watching TV or tweeting @gracehuiauthor.
Website: gracehuiauthor.com
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