they were different.
they were the sun and the moon, and the rest of the world stars.

both magnificent from a distance,
but very few were made to be close to them.

they were both bright in their own senses,
she possessing unparalleled grace and he being the essence of mystery.

they, of course, were attracted to each other.
like magnets though, if one was pushing and one was pulling they were unstoppable.
but if they both put out force simultaneously they sometimes repelled each other.

they never could quite figure it out, why love and hate seemed to sometimes run together;
why they longed to wake up next to each other every morning but never wanted to see the other again at the same time

why they felt so bright standing alone but so often eclipsed when next to the other.

they couldn't help that they were so passionate about their own worlds but so indifferent toward the others.

they couldn't quite grasp any of it.

they were different.

they were different because she longed to be light, and he always insisted on being darkness//

admittedly, some days she was just tired.
some days she just didn't feel like climbing or stretching or even trying at all.
but she knew, as did anyone who had ever met her, that the stars had always been hers.
she just had to reach.

and someday, when you pass her,
sometime when everything seems so normal,
you'll look at her.
and you'll know that one day when you weren't looking, she took what was rightfully hers.
and you'll know that she climbed.//

amethyst on your fingertips
you were the calm to my storm

My body language resembled it's own comfort.
It was not preached to me,
although she is attacked,
for those who can not connect with her usual.
Her comfort is a barrier,
created by unacceptance.

I see him,
unclean face, alcohol soothes over his lip.
Perfect symmetry.
With a stumble over his left foot,
his presence was affront my uneasiness.
He speaks a tale of how he reads me,
how he can discover me.
How each syllable spit off his tongue,
craves my body.
He states "my kind" are more appealing lacking voice,
with our legs a distance from another.

I am scolded.
I am scolded for my lack in ability.
They do not know,
I was never taught,
No one is.
One leg is demanded to lay over the other.
The curriculum reads it to be so.
"Your kind is in a lack of grace."

Someone close,
sits aside my quivering body.
Everyone seemed to express immense
freeness.
I was unaware of this comfort.
"Let your legs breathe for a change."

"My kind" is not righted to
the feelings of openness or security.
All for the positioning of the lower part of the body.
Open for a drunken hand to slip where
it mustn't reach,
Closed for the restoration of grace in a society.

My kind is a doorway to be used by the world.

A lascivious flavor now in season of moon
together, dot the beach
with this underlying nonchalance
only has belief in destiny
that our harmony such enrapture
now endeavor then enamor
emancipated lure in a gaze redeeming light.

Misty sunrise beautiful
Pale gold and icy blue
Steeped in iridescence
Each color alive within the other
Today I saw love
And it felt like you

Send home my long stray’d eyes to me,
Which O too long have dwelt on thee,
Yet since there they have learn’d such ill,
     Such forc’d fashions,
     And false passions,
          That they be
          Made by thee
Fit for no good sight, keep them still.

Send home my worthless heart again,
Which no unworthy thought could stain,
Which if’t be taught by thine
     To make jestings
     Of protestings,
          And cross both
          Word and oath,
Keep it, for then ’tis none of mine.

Yet send me back my heart and eyes,
That I may know, and see thy lies,
And may laugh and joy, when thou
     Art in anguish
     And dost languish
          For some one
          That will non,
Or prove as false as thou art now.

114

Good night, because we must,
How intricate the dust!
I would go, to know!
Oh incognito!
Saucy, Saucy Seraph
To elude me so!
Father! they won’t tell me,
Won’t you tell them to?