on the edge of darkness.
feline grace beholds,
the little things of nightime.
scrabbling away.
the nose quivers.
pupils dilate.
questing ever questing.

tree boughs, creak and pop
then silence once again.
as the moon reveals,
the tide upon the rise.

nocturnal beings found,
bathed in silverlight.
unworldy and archiac,
in days bright colourings.

but some how, realistic,
in the nightime setting.
faded but majestic.
clothed in monochromes.
different not pathetic.
darkness is their poem.

A tight hug, tearful farewell.
I hope fate conspires for us to meet again.

Six years isn't a short time
six hours a day was never long enough.

I will miss you
like the cold skin misses your touch.

I will smoke rings of memories around you
till Saturn pines for you.

A tight hug.
I will never let you go.

Stupid white girl.
We are not allowed to do anything.
We're prim and proper, white girls.
We are not allowed to fight back.
Put us in our place, white girls.
We are not allowed real work.
We still want our twenty three cents back.

The child of fair skin and blue eyes.
But with all my female privilege,
Came a nasty stamp on my body.
Like a watermark.
FEMALE.
I have heard that when a woman looks in the mirror, she sees a woman.
But when a man looks in the mirror, he sees a human.

Even with that watermark, our pale skin is used as a canvas.
And everyone else has been handed the tools to color in our curves.
Covering us in blue and black and purple and red.
Redrawing our minds so they cannot process the discrimination,
Painting over our tears so our feelings can be buried,
Manufacturing open legs when you want them,
Closed when you don't.
Erasing the lips we use to speak out,
Erasing the eyes we use to see all of this.

You think just because you held the brush,
Just because you created this monstrosity of a "masterpiece"
You get to claim ownership of this piece of artwork
That you blatantly disregard
Is my BODY.

The "fe" you tack onto "male"
Does not stand for Free Entry.
The "wo" you tack onto "man"
Does not stand for Wipe Out.

Women are barely able hold a pencil.
I was lucky to hold one long enough to draw myself
A conscience, a backbone, legs to stand on, and a mind.
We were only taught how to use the back end of that pencil
To erase our mouth and keep the secrets.
But these days the secrets are keeping themselves.

I will not be put in a glass case
You will not charge admission
To have people come and analyze me.
Buy me.
Give me value.
Categorize me.
Preserve me the way you created.

You are no artists.
You are vandals.

im sad again

for the first time in a long time, my eyes are spilling, and my hands are shaking

and the pain in my chest won’t seem to budge

and it’s back to me wanting to run into your arms

to feel the only home and safety i ever knew, back to comfort me once more

but i never felt that home in the flesh, only through the encasing of softly spoken phone calls, and carefully chosen words

i need to feel my head nuzzled into the chest that feels so familiar

yet so heartbreakingly unreal

i need to feel the softly spoken words against my cracking lips

i need to know that you still love me

despite everything, and all the time apart

you still love me