1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

you probably think you drained me that afternoon
stole the last bit of hope I had that love is more than bare bodies pressed against each other in the dark
but I still have the same fire in me I’ve had since I was six years old
hearing my father slur his words at 2 am while I pretended to sleep, trembling hands and sweaty palms until we make it home
and I swore I’d never choose a bottle and a hollow heart over someone I was meant to love
but if I didn’t need a man then to show me I was worth more than empty promises and inconsistent affection
what makes you think I’d need one now?

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

I am
soupy mud-lukewarm rain.
I am art rarely born in
***.
belonging.
gender.
identity.
I am
being more hazardous than a
heartthrob, commitments which don’t owe.

I am
seemingly flawed acrobats where
wars and rifts give purest windows into-
I am
diversity, unbiased observation
without opinion

This body is
a cave to personal Aboriginality.
With similar struggles,
this body is
February  funerals
Stumbling drunk
Faulty wires
Silence singing

This body is
masculinity sitting as knobs on my chest. 10 month T shot
showing no faith in God likely hates me like
This Body Is
a two week alcoholic.

I am
some body. A temporary palace worthy of worshipping
past open hours of service,
I am
this breath inside a masterpiece,
losing pace and time of directions.


I am skeletal, with you
growing through rainfalls I want you to learn to dance with me
I am putting on a face
‘pretty’ is a word fit to little girl’s dresses and marmalade eyes
I am
black lightning down her classroom arms.

This feeling is
‘I think I want to wear makeup’ Who I can be Who can I be? Who was I
This feeling is
Who I was.
Bogged down and banking on jawline horizons never seen,
This feeling is
what it is.

This feeling is multiplying
hearts for many individuals.
This body is
I think I’m aro ace all the way.
I am
thought to be nothing more than your constant in a dream.

There once was a lesbian named Zoë,
Who was born in a month quite snowy.
She has glasses on her face,
Enjoyed a warm embrace,
And her smile was big and glowy.

Many moons,
have passed over my headpiece,
as you leave me behind,
in moondust & ashes each night,

You collect on the bookshelves,
I keep here,
collecting on hearts with your light,
dusting my world with your beauty,
diminutives in bits of the white,

This is not the end of the journey,
 this a mere tiny part of the flight,
and I've not seen any more shiny,
or any star nearly as bright,

Though I am unable to see you now,
or touch your skin ever again,
or truly hear you with my ear,
I still miss you so my friend,

I know I cannot be near you now,
I cannot be where you are,
as you are but a twinkling light,
a brilliant & distant, star-

If it was not but for the moon dust,
my heart wouldn't,
be able to see you anymore either.

Ma Cherie © 2017

I think a lot of thoughts,
At 4am.
And I only ever think of you.