he grew a light beard over the summer
and he looked like a sculpture, like a ******* adonis
in the most beautiful handsome unplanned way
and he was talking about laundry detergent, or apple pie, or something
and you zoned out looking at him
and then your friend whispered in your ear
“What is that ugly-*** beard”
and you said “Yeah”
but you smiled a secret smile and kept on looking

you are a painter
and i am a
blank canvas.

paint a vivid
picture for me,
for us.

make sure to fill
my eyes with
the wonder and the
curiosity and the
infatuation that will
be present when
i see you for the
first time.

leave my hair
messy because you
are going to tell me
that you like it
that way someday.

include all of the scars
and the birthmarks and
the little wrinkles on
my skin that i hate,
because you will tell me
that you love every
little thing about me
down to the smallest
freckle on my cheek.

pay attention to all
of the little details.

you are a painter
and i am a
blank canvas
waiting to be turned
into something
beautiful.

Two words
you paired and stretched to fit
between us
Bitter and beautiful on my tongue:
Más despacio.

More slow-space:
A translation in my mind,
distant and young and heavy
with so much smooth hair knotted-up
to tie off my twisted thoughts
from escaping.

If only my sheer, shiny verbosity
could challenge
all the air
of that slow-space
you so tersely placed
between
us.

This globe beneath me
within hand's reach
turns and turns and turns

What am I?

I am the language
between the trees and waves
painting the globe with gentle strokes
from a brush made of stars

What am I?

I am the painter of the fields
and the sunrise of a sleepy morning
I fill this globe of mine
with the colors of my soul.

What am I?

I am the heartbeat of this world
beating and resonating
waiting for the globe to dance

Dear Body;
I know it is stupid to see photoshopped girls and want to be like them. I know it is not possible to have flawless skin and a waist that tiny. I know I am supposed to be the one that preaches "love yourself" but honestly, it is unfeasible to not want to be perfect.  It's not just the models or the celebrities who are fed a carrot a day and pumped with botox, but my friends are pretty, too. I wish you were skinnier, smoother, rounder, taller, clearer, more radiant and just generally less disgusting.
I wish I could wear clothes like everyone else and feel comfortable. I wish you didn't make me feel so crap all the time. I wish I was not so ungrateful. I wish I didn't have to feel guilty every time I eat bacon. I wish chocolate was good for you. I wish you would not become damaged in elements. If you could just, I don't know, change?

Sincerely, your  disappointed owner.