Although you are the one with the scars
I have been the one carrying them
Heavy pockets full of stones
And of your sorrows at home I keep entire jars
I became old by accident just trying to sort all of them
Til I made rituals of ink on my skin just to travel far
And I must undo to myself the evil received in the media of pop song
And I went around and around
Asking endlessly the same questions
The cargo jets growl and tempest and it is never far enough
And I ground my bones to a dust to make magic potions
Let me carry the child and grow plants in gardens that aren’t mine
And the promises to wait for your heart to go back to itself
Will only make sense on the day that I am gone
For your sorrows at home I keep an entire shrine
Where all sorts of demons are stored on a shelf
And I’ll never come back to them if I travel far
The first time we slept together you took me to the pond and said
“This is where the lovers say their vows”
And I said nothing in exchange
Because I know what vows are worth in your language
A year of misery, maybe two if we’re really unlucky
I let the frogs in the pond sing their answer instead of mine
And then I let you kiss me.
We fucked, although you’d prefer it if I said we made love
But calling it that won’t change the fact
That I have no more love to give than I have fucks
The next morning I woke up when the cooks turned on the kitchen lights
Turns out your bedroom’s only window was placed exactly between the refrigerator and the pantry
And the cooks at the window were sharpening their knives
And looking hungry.
And I said it’s always the fucking same isn’t it
Your kind can’t help themselves talking of vows and of wreaths
And how you’ve changed from the frog into prince with the movement of our hips
But once you’ve come in our hair you can’t help but make us feel like a piece of meat.
I am the flower in the mirror,
the moon on the surface of water
I am the shadow behind you,
the Mona Lisa
I am a mirage,
the beautiful dreams that are unattainable
I am the sun setting or rising,
the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel
I am the beauty that you can only see,
but can’t touch
I am the beauty that you can only feel,
but can’t touch
It’s not your decision whether someone falls in love with you or not.
And I agree for the most part.
But I struggle with it.
I struggle with all of it.
I sit in silence absorbing every word while you chat amongst yourselves.
I want to defend but I can’t argue what I can’t articulate.
It’s like white noise inside my head.
Instead I laugh. I shrug it off. It is what it is.
I’m not deflecting. I’m not being defensive.
Or at least I don’t mean to.
I’m an open book.
Or at least I thought I was.
Do you feel like you’re letting a barrier down if you openly talk about things?
Do you find it difficult to trust people?
Were you mistreated in an old relationship?
Why don’t you feel?
If I knew the answers I wouldn’t be the disaster that I am.
But trust me when I say that I’m doing you a favour.
You don’t want the toxicity.
You don’t need the burden.
Just ask those who tore down that wall.
I’m the parasite.
There are never any positive adjectives.
Just a bitter after taste.
An off flavour.
A bad habit.
A beautiful mess
But a mess no less.
she shone bright in the darkness, the subtle glare of red reflecting off the one streetlight beam peeking through the curtain. her darting eyes scanning the room and smiling in recognition.
i knelt beside the door as she approached me, dug my intestines out through my naval and stretched my heart down into my crotch. it felt fluttery and warm down there. i curled around the sensation and felt the solace radiate through my body.
her lips were full and gentle, her hands captivating and soft as she held my face side by side prompting me to my feet. i held her face and pressed my nose against hers as the cold fumbled around our bodies.
i knew she didn’t feel what i felt but i was happy that she let me kiss her and hold her like that for a minute.
she didn’t encourage my feelings but she was kind enough to let me indulge in them.