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Nemesis 2d
Can I be as beautiful as the Mona Lisa?
Draped in blue like Margarita Teresa?
My features soft and kind
A nature so mature and polite

Can I have a man who paints
Relaxed and focused before the flames,
With hands stained by strokes of time
With a passion for hues and rhymes?
  
He will paint me slow and detailed-
Mouthless, faceless, truly changed
He spends hours perfecting my ears
He never talks when he concentrates.

With every stroke, he paints hues
purple, red, and a touch of blue
He invents new colors, studies the anatomy
Counts the bones inside the knee

He learns the composition.
bends me into a new position.
A new art form now
Realistic, still unrecognized.

For while I am sitting in my chair
He selects shades for my hair
I am now framed and proud
Worthy of being fawned about

When his masterpiece is complete
Mourns then moves to new conceits
Hung in the Louvre—by my neck, pale and still
A brushstroke by his graceful will

You will know me by my mystery smile.
Find recognition of me in his style
I can be viewed now through his lens
More of an art and less a self.
Nemesis 2d
I had a dream the other night.
I could lie and say it was about you.
But I was more entranced by the light.

The heat suffocated thick as smoke,
like a stove left on too long.
I choked beside you, gasping there,

The stone’s sharp edge pressed into me,
and your eyes—
slid soft, yet cut like knives.

"I like heat waves, sweat on my brow."
What a liar, I smiled. Summer dries you out.
You conjure storms in these times.

Yes, the weather choked me.
But do not mistake this for cruelty.
I would not use honesty to hurt.

I know dreams are like candies—
tempting, dangling in front of me,
summers I can never see.

I outgrew the sweater my grandmother gave me-
I would not let myself be rocked like a baby
in a dreamscape I can never call mine.

So I will think of sunshine,
how it burned my skin
more than you stained mine.

I can have more summers.
if I am lucky, even ninety-nine—
but not another you in my life.

For I had a dream the other night,
and I lied when I said it was not about you—
it was about the weather, burning bright
'
Nemesis 3d
Ever since I was a child,
I counted all the ways we could die—
falling through ice, an earthquake,
Even the weather seems to panic.
Somewhere in the world, right now,
A fish is struggling to get by.
But it dies by the hand of a man.
who thinks death is a pastime.
We die small deaths every time—
Like scissors in hair, shedding of skin
when I knew all the ways he would leave
Once, just once in my life,
I want to feel delicate.
Not like the hole in the drywall.
shaped like a fist.
Once, I want to shred the list.
that contains all the ways we could miss
Just once, I do not want to be sharp.
like a cutting knife, like a blade
Even in death, there is rebirth—
flies, mites, beetles,
feeding on someone’s deathbed.
From just one conversation,
I could smell the rot—
the body left untouched for a month,
Is it wrong to say?
That ever since I was a child
I lived with ghosts in my house.
And I was never soft in my life.
just bones and flesh
with a brain filled with living death.
Nemesis 3d
I think about how my body makes it impossible for me to love.
The truth is, I am shapeless—like a dropped clay ***,
shattered,
with pieces lodged inside my bones.
He called me a liar, but here I am,
telling another truth:
You cannot plant flowers in something that cannot hold.
I convinced my mind, with all its force,
that the Lord took apart your bones
and sculpted something flawless,
more beautiful than angels,
brighter than the morning sun.
And you are too high.
too pure,
to shine on something so lowly.
The truth is, darling,
You made me feel unworthy.
But I am sure she is a vase full of flowers—
worth more than sunshine that fades in two hours.
And I will crawl back into my dark cave,
convincing myself that light is something I no longer crave.
Nemesis 3d
His hands seemed almost bizarre on the fork.
How can something so large handle something so small?
Did my mother's hand fit into his at all?
I wondered as he chewed up the dead pork.

"It does not taste right." He says as he takes another bite.
The blood is foaming from his open mouth.
"It is half-cooked and still fresh; the animal still tries.
to outrun his flesh. It is hard to bite and dry."

He tries to say as he swallows, even as it rots
He keeps just eating more. Then he slams the fork.
chants curses that would put a priest inside the morgue
I listen to him call God as I ponder about loving

In the black and white pictures, it existed.
where my mother's eyes still smiled
where her movements were not rehearsed
where she didn't have to keep the glass half full so it wouldn't burst

I see her in my reflection: a sad-eyed girl.
with a table filled with savory and sweet
But Mother, do we share this quiet rage when we eat?
You wish you could replace his head on the plate?

Mother, are you a good actress?
Do you keep knives under your dress?
Does your mind create images?
Where you pay off all the witnesses.

"Will you ever feed me something other than your tears?"
He shouts as he slams his fists.
and his hands make sounds
as loud as war bombs

We learned when to be quiet.
when to soak up all the silence
But, Mother, in your mind, is he still the head of the table?
Or just a head on the plate?
Nemesis 3d
I never understood my mother.
She used to rest with a book in her hands.
She read novels about tragedies and stolen lands.
Skin-to-skin with my father

Why does she read books about fights and wars?
At her feet lived a real-life Hoplite man.
Already thinking about his phalanx plan.
How to conquer or claim forbidden lands

He never understood my mother.
Why bother with peaceful streams?
When in battle, steel swords gleam.
Crimson blood and gunshot dreams

Me on my couch with my Greek tragedies
At my heels rests my warrior, Achilles.
In his mind, he builds monasteries.
While I read about the conquered seas

I feel like my mother understood the thunder.
Whenever he had a moment with my father,
Maybe he had a glimpse of peace.
While he looked up at my mother's face
Nemesis 3d
My heart beats faster when I see you.
It also does that when I’m scared, too.
And instead of pleasant butterflies
I feel like you are stabbing my insides.
Loving you comes in destructive waves.
Like a flood that drowns, our graves
Maybe you’re not worthy of pure love.
At trial, they judge you from above.
Hear a whisper: "You’re not ready yet."
More pain, you still haven’t paid your debt.
Want to scream "I’m not just bad timing."
Imbalances are all there is to lightning.
Like a raging fire can’t stop the ash
A speeding accident can’t stop the crash.
And a hurricane is just the weather.
like the freezing cold in December.
When an earthquake occurs, it's just a slip.
I'm not at fault; I’m drawn to your lips.
Fresh blood will be my ink when I rhyme.
And the thought of you will fade with time.
The cheerful laugh you faked when you hoped to die
Just thoughts on this page already dry
Poetry makes, "I’ll never love you."
Sound like honey and red wine; it's true.
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