Question mark/ Paper thin

My anxiety is sometimes a 9
love letter with no name after 8
“Dear…”

It is a fury of obsessions
and double-checking to make sure
every word is just right- 6

That I do not slip and address
someone I love, that just thinking
of their name will have me
write down a forbidden lover.

It is making sure that nobody
is ever mentioned or implied
and that my hands work mechanically
while my mind wonders through the millions
of “dear rearrangements”
that could bring the end of me.

It is the blood from a paper-cut
that I use to draw a heart on
the letter’s top left corner.

It is the way this wretched heart of
mine skips a beat every minute
but skips two when I pour it out
to write to you.

It is the way it beats
a little slower
when I sign,
“Yours truly.”

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