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 Mar 2014 Andy KittySmasher
Sakii
Can
       you
              please
                        turn
           ­                  out
                        the
                 lights
         when
    you
go?
10W
My lips are almost chapped even though I use chapstick more often than I eat. They are in limbo, halfway between being soft and kissable and being dry and raw. I don't kiss you as often as I'd like, even though I kiss you several times every day. Kissing you feels so good, because your mouth is warm and soft and moves perfectly with mine. The touch of your lips is tender and sweet, except when it's not. Except when it's deeper and more urgent and your body tenses up and presses itself against me and your arms pull me closer. Except when I can tell you want more, more, MORE. Except when I want that too.
            2. My chest is small and pale and I might be allergic to something because I've got a rash. My chest is always covered by some brightly-colored piece of fabric. It's only bare when I'm in the shower and to be honest that's where I think about you the most. With the water running through my hair and across my skin I think about your eyes and your shy smile and your hands and your laugh. My chest is what you'd call 'petite' but I love it because it lets me pretend I'm a size XS.
            3. My arms are skinny but strong. They're pure muscle and when I move them around, miracle of miracles, they don't jiggle. They're pale too, but that's ok. I'll get tan this summer. It'll probably be a farmer's tan. My arms have about a million nerve endings and I never knew that up until a few weeks ago when you decided to discover what drives me insane. And guess what? You found it. I love it when you move your hands around because your touch makes me light up but the light dies down after a while if you don't keep reminding me that you're there.
             4. My back is the only part of me that got tan. I was wearing a one-piece swimsuit all of last summer and there was a hole in the back. My spine has a 17% curve and I have a few blackheads here and there because I work out so often. I can feel your arm slipping around my waist before it gets to where it wants to stay and that makes me crazy. It makes me want to lie on my back someplace where we can be alone and let your hands go other places (like to the zipper of your jeans or the scar on my ear)
               5. My stomach is the most important part of me. I like to keep it pink and clean and empty. I'd like it to be pure muscle and curves because skinny is good but I don't know if I have the strength to make that happen. Whenever you touch my waist (or anywhere, everywhere), something stirs deep inside of me. I wonder if you feel it too, if you feel it in your stomach or somewhere else or everywhere else.
                6. My inner thighs are probably the only part of me I haven't let you explore yet. Don't worry baby, I promise I won't hold back forever. It's just that my thighs are covered in stretch marks and memories of scars and I don't want you seeing that because I don't want to hurt you. But sometimes it feels like you're holding back too because you don't want to hurt me. I'll let you in on a little secret though- nothing can hurt me. I have armor made of titanium and nothing can pierce it except for words meant only for me and little touches that no one else can see. But here's another secret - there's a pretty little gap between my thighs that measures almost an inch if I lean forward a little bit. When I stand normally it measures only half an inch but that doesn't matter because I promise that I'll make room for you when the time comes, whether it's tomorrow or next week or next year. I promise there's room for you between my thighs.
                  7. My calves are muscled and look hot when I wear high heels. They are strong and that's really helpful when I kiss you because you're kind of tall and sometimes I have to stand on tip-toe. Sometimes one of my legs accidentally goes between yours and then you have to hold me up and I give up and melt into your embrace.
                  8. My feet are always cold. I don't like people seeing them because my toes are weird and so I always wear socks. Except when I don't, but that's only when it's summer and I'm too classy to wear socks with sandals. I wear cute socks though. Flamingos and whales and polka-dots and owls and squirrels. I paint my toes with colorful polish. Right now they're teal, like my eyes.
                  9. My eyes are ever-changing, but always beautiful. They're almost translucent sometimes in the sunlight. Sometimes they're angry and cold and emotionless, and that's when I scare people. Occasionally they're the color of jade, a light green that you could lose yourself in. Sometimes they're dark green, the color of moss and the top of the forest. Sometimes they're light blue, reminiscent of the sky on a cloudless day. And once in a blue moon, they're stony gray and I use them to pierce through the facade. Sometimes they're dark blue, the color of the ocean and I let the boys drown in them. But not you, baby. I'll keep you afloat.
                 10. My body was never a temple. But you can worship me if you want.
if you read all of this, thanks :)
You hardly ever say
I love you
instead of
I love you too
I am a royal **** up.
I fall apart regularly
It has become normal
For tears to well
For my heart to swell
For I live with too much passion
And not enough practicality.
I'm sorry for being your daughter
I'm sorry for being sick
I'm sorry for destroying this family.
You are ashamed of my life
And I am too.
I have to die.
This is of no concern to the neighbors.

They will continue to drink their coffee and
read their papers in the art of not giving a ****.

If she was still here,
she might
reach
a long hand over
and
touch

me down to my grave—

cradle me and set me in the
crib of centuries &

years of us.
From the book: The Kitchen Sinks of Yesterday Morning: The ****** Cakes of Tomorrow © 2013 Derek Shane Keck
Go to sleep child
Wake up tomorrow with a new day ahead

Eyes sore
Begging me to fall asleep
But not without some tears shed before
For no reason
I'll die a little inside
Goodnight
Goodnight
Writing in prose
Does not make you a poet

Telling of times
Of a crimson stream
Caused by your denial
Does not make you a poet

Just because you starve yourself
In a fruitless pursuit of perfection
Does not make you a poet

What makes you a poet
Is when seeing her eyes
Makes you want to stop the world
And detail how they twinkled
When the light came in
At just the right angle
From the glass pane windows

What makes you a poet
Is when you think that her hair
Even when she wears it in that messy bun
On the top of her head
Looks like the gold
Of that ring you found
That you would love to put on her finger
Someday

What makes you a poet
Is not knowing just the right words
To describe her
So you just say nothing
And make her become these words
That you obsesse over
Every
Single
Day
After writing this, I was actually shaking because of how relevant it was to me at that moment.
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