the words starts as whispers of thoughts, flimsy threads of ideas, inconsequential
they float through my body, start in my heart and push outwards
they expand, my heart expands, falling to my feet and propelling them onwards
wrapping around my muscles and bones
melting into me.
they fill my lungs, like they're going to explode under the pressure
my ribs crack
my throat closes tight around the bubble of thought-turned-vocal
they fill my teeth and coat my tongue and
the bubble bursts and
I love you

I love you and the dam has opened and I love you and I'm flooded with all the times I never said it and I love you
it's like a force of nature and I can't stop it and I don't want to and I love you I love you I love you
I love you.

I met a man with treetops for eyes
The sun shone out of his mouth when he smiled
Angels swooned when he laughed
Babbling brooks rushed when he spoke
His words crashing in my ears like waves
Like waterfalls.

I liked his vastness
The respect the winds had for him
Never blowing too strongly when he was near
Whispering cautiously by his ears
Tousling  his feathered hair softly, gently.

He sat still as the mountains
But thundered and roared when I trod on his toes.
He shook the foundations of home, heart, life.

He wanted me to sit still at his feet
Drown in his voice, his words
Be carried along by the current of his commands.
I forgot how to swim.

You hate your lips
But you've never been on the receiving end of shy smiles and bitten lips
Or soft kisses leaving trails of sparks across my shoulders
(I'm convinced that's where my freckles come from)
Of whispers against skin and cheek-splitting grins and pouts.

You hate your eyes
But you've never seen them light up when you see a puppy in the park
Or sparkle like stars at that old couple holding hands
You've never seen them fill with tears, brimming, overflowing, at corny movies and dying flowers and tacky gifts that keep you sane.

You hate your hands
Because you focus too much on the past
On the criss-crossing scars that cover the backs of them
On the things they've done that you wish they hadn't.
You haven't felt them the way I have,
Soft and warm in my own
A comfort, a prayer, an anchor.
You haven't felt them brushing hair away from your forehead when you're ill
Tracing absent-minded patterns on exposed skin.
Haven't seen them from my point of view on Sunday mornings;
Frostbitten and blue tipped, holding steaming cups of tea from the kiosk on the corner, despite the subzero temperatures and your lack of a coat.

Your cheeks grow rosy at the slightest provocation and you hate it because you feel it gives you away too easily.

You have a scar above your eyebrow from a teenage piercing mistake and you hate it, calling it physical evidence of your stupidity.
You say you have a lot of physical evidence of your stupidity.

You have a birthmark covering your left arm and you hate how it makes you look "disproportionate" "distorted" "lopsided".

(You never believe me when I tell you how beautiful you are and I hate it)

She used to look at the fresh cut grass in summer
Inhale
Drop to her knees
And sob.

Weeping
For the seemingly inconsequential maintenance
The neat border of the fields
The now headless dandelions and daisies.

She said the sharp tang didn't bring to mind freshness
But horror
Blood
Death.

You had killed the blades of grass
Their tops trimmed for no reason
Other than conformity
Indistinguishable from one another.

She was afraid
Of when grass would stop sufficing
They'll move on to us next, she said.
Chop off our heads to make us blend in.

They've started already
What is one ****** stump of a neck to another?
We're getting out of hand
They don't like it.

She never said who "they" were
I don't suppose she knew herself
But she fought them single-handedly
Fangs bared, eyes dry.

They never got her in the end
She was too quick for them,
Too clever.
She got herself first.

They kept her in the attic with the rest of the nonsense
An improvised pen and paper of fingernails and floorboards.
Cracked windows rusted shut from years of disuse
Chapped lips pinched shut from years of neglect.
Broken mirrors on the floor from outbursts no one heard
Shattered eyes blinking hollowly because no one was listening.
Patterns traced on dust covered windows letting bars of light shine through
Therapeutic
Sunlight outlining shadows that shouldn't be there, dust mites that should.
Daisy; the name she gave herself after forgetting her original.
Daisy; what she'd call herself should she ever get out.
Withered; what she became.

You make me feel like I'm collapsing in on myself
But in the really good way
I promise.
Your whispers weave their way down to my chest and wrap themselves around my lungs
Constrictive
Forcing all the air from them til I can't breath.
I don't want to.
You roll your eyes to heaven and laugh
While stars burst behind mine.
With every fond shake of your head my heart pulses 3 times quicker.
You've turned me into a hummingbird, a mouse,
I'm vibrating.
And I'm floating
The dead weight around my ankles evaporates when you sigh.
Soon enough I'll have to be tied down.
I'm a helium balloon filled with your giggles and off-key singing and 3am questions of "why are we here, monkey? what are we doing? do you think dogs understand us? what would happen if i put marshmallows in the microwave for 7 minutes?"
I'm expanding I'm inflating I'm going to burst.
I'd be happy to.

Your voice isn't like a song
Or a prayer.
It's more like a secret.
I am selfish and don't want to share it.
I wan't to catch it in a jar with fresh air and the scent of pine trees
A bottle to mix it with carbonated bubbles
An envelope filled with letters never written.
I want you shrunken down and curled up in the curved shell of my ear.
Whisper, scream, sing, laugh, mutter.
I have a seven-track mind and I'd like you to narrate them all for me.
Read me your homework, your favourite book, your shopping lists, the ingredients of your shampoo.
The breaths and lilts and stutters
Keep it raw and new and open
And I'm honoured.
Share the secret with me.