His innocence stung me; like a bee on the first day of spring.
I couldn't get the stinger out of the welt that had grown around it.

Here he was; untouched and unscathed.
Here I am; unspoken and unattached.

I used to think we were alike.
That I, too, was a simple girl in a simple way.

I now know that we are different.
That he, too, is unable to know the horror, only the grief.

And this welt will grow bigger and bigger, day by day;
But I don't have the heart to pull the stinger out of my skin.

It has made itself apart of me, apart of my pain.
And for some reason, I like the pain.

I like the sting of innocence, blatantly mocking my used persona.
And he likes the way hide my delicacy beneath it.

I, the owner, will promise to take care of him.
I will love him, powerfully,
I will not hurt him, sourly,
I will feed him, brush him, and play with him.

I, the wife, will promise to take care of him.
I will talk to him, honestly,
I will not damage his ego, purposefully,
I will cherish him, think of him, and be forever with him.

I, the mother, will promise to take care of him.
I will teach him, rightfully,
I will not lose my temper towards him, level-headedly,
I will raise him, trust him, and give him all I have of myself.

I, the young girl, will promise to keep these wishes to myself.
I will act immature, expectedly,
I will talk about boys, not men,
I will suffocate my lovely, accelerated, traditional thoughts.

Because I am not an owner, a wife, or a mother.
And I may never be.

Hail to Mark Twain, and John Steinbeck, and William Shakespear.
Hail to the kings of literature and jesters of yesterday.
Their crowns are their words and their jewels are their jokes.
Their Reign is unending yet ended and gone.

Now we fall before beauty tutorials and conspiracy theories.
For dogs chasing cats, and girls chasing boys.
Now their crowns are rusty, and their jewels unpolished.
No one tends to their memorials as they tend to surf the web.

I am ripe fruit sitting out on a hot day
I am toast without butter jam tea or coffee
I am a caterpillar stuck in my chrysalis
I am a model with no confidence
I am straight-lined unbrushed teeth
I am a physician without a single patient
I am an actress who can’t remember lines
I am eating right in the wrong portions

I have potential yet I have no purpose
Yet I wish to let it seek me out
Instead of seeking it out for myself

I’m not a beautiful person
I’m not exactly unique
I know enough but not a lot
But I am still here
And that’s wonderful
Or so I’ve heard
But I’m trying my ****** hardest
I hope they’ll see that someday

The sun rises from stage right
She follows her cues throughout the day
She exits in the left wing
And then the moon steals her show

He captivates his audience with ambiance
His chorus twinkles ever so slightly
He plays to the romance of the night
And she wishes she could do the same

So she requests an hour’s difference
And watches the moon’s anticlimactic exit
She takes a deep breath and focuses
And she enters, once again, in vibrancy

Her supporting actor plays with her hair
As his waves dance to her brilliance
She takes her time with her movement
And her elegant chorus billows high above

When her show is coming to a close
She gives it all she’s got
She paints the stage with a dainty hue
And exits at the peak of her performance

She smiles from the wing
As she gets her standing ovation

Nimble fingers and humble toes
Each with a different set of fingerprints
He examined each one and kissed them
And then he lay them down

Tight cheek bones and a concave torso
He let his hand run down her jagged ribs
He memorized the veins she tried to open. And his tears took her blood’s place

He felt the lines etched in her skin
And he noticed their strategic placement
His lip quivered when hers lay still
His eyes watered when hers turned pale

He couldn’t collect himself
So he collected thin strands of her hair
He compiled enough to touch her forever
Then he stood, taking her in one last time