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XPY Sep 2021
Tattoos are scars
we choose to keep--
words we want to carry,
memories we fear losing;
ink and needle are
the self-inflicted stinging:
the pain we choose to feel.
art on our bodies--
out of our minds--
something
real.
I have my father's name tattooed on my wrist not because I forgive him, but because I have forgiven myself and I choose to carry that with me.
XPY Mar 2021
Why is saying goodbye
so easy
when every word
every syllable
every sound
of "hello"
was so
*******
hard?
I feel like this moving on should not be as easy as it is.
© XPY 12032021
XPY Mar 2020
If someone asked me
how I would describe
color,
I would tell them this:

Yellow
is stepping outside in spring.
It is the welcoming
embrace of sun.

Green
is lying in a field of grass.
It is the rustle of leaves
in the summer breeze.

Blue
is standing in the light rain,
and the sweet birdsong
when the sky opens up.

Red
is the feeling when your hands brush;
her lips on yours, breathing the same air.
It is the fire in two hearts that beat together.
© X. P. Y. 2020
XPY Jan 2020
I feel the feather-light touches
Of imaginary fingers
As they creep across my shoulders.
Longingly,
I pretend that the pressure
Across my chest is the security
Of your arms holding me.
But really, it is the constricting
Bind of loneliness
Gripping me tightly.
© X. P. Y. 2020
XPY Dec 2019
I clung to you like a lifeline-
A floating buoy in a violent sea
But when I let go of you
Into the deep, deep
Blue,
I found that I had gills—
And I could breathe.
XPY 12-8-19
XPY Dec 2019
Briefly,
We were magical;
Like shooting stars
Caught between clouds.
XPY 12-7-19
XPY Nov 2019
We built our house
at the base of Vesuvius;
in the shadow of that mountain
we made our home.

When the tremors came
we shook it off and carried on:
it was just the island settling.

When fire rained down,
and smoke and ash filled the sky
we did nothing but watch,
as the air darkened.

We knew- in the back of our minds-
that the end was coming, and yet
we did nothing because what was there to do?

They will come in a hundred years
and see the green grass and
the beautiful, vibrant blossoms
and know nothing of the fire that destroyed us.
© XPY 2019
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