spines, cracks, lacks movement

my house has wooden walls,
and a slide at the split in the road.
you considered adding a tireswing to it,
but i promptly told you no, because you
wanted it vertical and i wanted it horizontal.
you wanted to go in directions my body didn't move,
whether out of physical impossibility or stubbornness,
i do not know, but staying planted regardless. i thought if
i didn't move long enough, i would become a statue. sadly,
the closest i became was a morning dew.

you took me in your hands and i thought of it as a nurturing of sorts,
at first, anyways, but faltering on the lines, stepping on cracks, but
this time, we're breaking our own backs. the spine is a fragile thing, and i think
of it running inside of you, a highway, a breakaway, a safe place, and i would like
to crawl between each vertebrae and leave you a little piece of love. would that prevent
a herniated disc? would that prevent this? i do not know, but i am trying.

when i got out of my car, made my journey on the crosswalk,
hit the sidewalk, i stared at the worms pulling themselves hopefully.
they were long, and it reminded me that underneath all of the dirt
life is lunging for our shoes as a silent reminder of its existence. i smiled
to myself. on my way out of school, to my car, it was sunnier. charcoaled
masses laid along the pavement and i knew now that they weren't lunging,
but crying. they weren't reaching, but screaming, and i smiled as i passed them by.

someday, i would like to forgive myself.
someday is like a sunday, though, impatient, and unappreciative.
i count the moments but not the words. i don't write sonnets, but play with swords.