Crushed

She asked me "Why do you write so disjointedly?"
I wanted to tell her
    This isn't about you
I wanted to tell her
    Stop reading over my shoulder
        You make me sick in a good/bad way.

I told her
    My words are screaming.
    They can't be straight-jacketed into convenient sentences
    Only gasping for breath in pants -
    Or in run-ons under their breath, still in pants.

She asked me if I wanted to marry her (I said yes)
Only she didn't (I said yes)
And it was all in my head (I still said yes)

So when I picture her throwing me against the wall
    We're on our honeymoon.
    We're invincible.
        Her capacity to hurt and my willingness to be hurt
        Somehow don't matter.
When she pushes me into a corner
    or worse
When she pushes herself into a corner
(real life or proverbial)
    It's your story, I'm just writing it down.
For those moments of silence, I see the world in tiny atoms
and I can't believe how big we are.

I can't believe we haven't imploded on ourselves already.
    The problem is, in these moments, we have.