our perfect little bubble has popped
to make room for other people
and adult responsibility
and I feel the impact of open space.
im not used to air that doesn't belong to you.

im alone
I extend my limbs in all directions
waiting for something to catch
a preoccupied lover
a friend at work unable to lend an ear
a friend that's not a friend is choosing someone to bed instead.
he is coping,
the way I used to
in a way that would hurt more than me in the long run.

and there it is, right where I left it -
i s o l a t i o n      
---
and the worst bit is
it's me I have to keep my own company.

Fragile finger tips
That dip into you.
Dewy eyes because he's sleep deprived.

Filled with helium,
He floats up to the ceiling when he laughs - with a sharp exhale through the nose.
Easily deflated,
But not replaced.

Boy, oh boy
What I would give
To gingerly caress
That bearded face.
That face of a boy,
Hidden behind hair and glass and  others' expectations.

He is the end of a candle wick,
Unexpected and satisfying
He escapes in a spiral of smoke.
But I know his presence
by his smell.
(And cling to it when he vanishes.)
It clings to your clothes.
I inhale until my nostrils chaffe.
Linger and let linger.

It's light for him to be
And heavy when he is not.
But he is just a boy staying up past his bedtime.
A boy to whom my servitude belongs.
A boy in the shoes of the man he is becoming.

A boy in the midst of a growth spurt,
I kid you not

every hour he grows nearer to perfection
until he turns to dust.
it's those sounds he makes before he falls asleep
that make it hard not to touch him in the night.

he dances through my dreams
with fistfuls of daisies
he says they're the color of me.
his words turn me to vapor, and I'll cling to the first thing I see.  

he is every living green thing.
he cleans the air around me.
he purifies.
he makes me drinkable.

I am fresh with bruises,
the kinds you get from bedtime wrestling.
I want to nuzzle myself into the space between his two front teeth
and use his uvula as a tire swing.
sliding down his happy trail, I'll explore my surroundings.

this boy with the electric tongue, that shocks when we kiss.
static at the tip of every follicle of hair.
lightning in his eyes,
always coming a few seconds before the thunder in his head.

he is the tang of honey mustard,
the swell of a sea,
the crackle of a record;
this boy that stays up til 5 A.M.
(just for me.)

I was teetering on the precipice
of something.
edging towards the glimmer.
mashing tongues,
you tore me limb from limb.
I'm glazed with sweat.
you baste me in honeydew.

in the bedroom we speak in vowels:
oooOOHHhhooo
uUUHhh.
AAAAaaahhh
The sounds of death,
Long awaited for.
I died like this every night and loved every minute of it, bruised down to my bones.
i i i, want moremoremore.
Give my teeth a whitening.

You are the eye of the storm
the first leg into a pair of pants
the bone with the best sense of humor.

you left me high,
but not dry.

accept this broken french as a gesture of my affinity:
je taime
tu me manques
je tadore mon lapin
bisou bisou

the world is a dangerous place for
daughters,
for sisters,
aunts,
nieces,
girlfriends.
she asks herself if she deserved to be
taken advantage of,
chased,
belittled,
grabbed,
hurt.
fear is instilled in each girl,
their rights withheld,
respect weaned,
voiced silenced
because of their anatomy.
filled with guilt at their mere existence
while rapists sleep soundly.
people say it wouldn't have happened
if you dressed more conservatively,
if you didn't lead him on,
he couldn't help himself,
it's natural,
you should be flattered you stuck up ***** I'm talking to you.
a man that goes too far is excused for being a boy,
while a girl walks to her car in the middle of the night, fearful for her own life.
a naked woman lying in the street is not asking for anything
that she doesn't speak.
why does the first "yes" mean "yes"
and the first "no" mean "persist" ?
why do you get an excuse to act how you want
but I'm not granted the same privledge every 28 days?
at what age do you tell her that she will be
violently pursued,
cursed,
assaulted,
undermined,
paid less
because the structure of her body.
Why does every girl have a heartbreaking story
that she was made to feel guilty for?
like she could have done something to change it,
when the thing that needs changing is the one that thinks "well you see the way she dressed, she brought it on herself."
I hope I don't have a daughter,
but a son instead
so I won't have to be the one to put fear in her head.

Let me tell you about my best friend. He is a trigger, pointed right at me. He is the last moment before dusk - a crisp line of color amidst a wide stretch of grey. With exotic lips, lush with an obscene shade of red-pink. Stout sturdy fingers feed into the wrist upon which I tug so that he is forever hurdling towards me. His limbs are animated by hesitance and laughter. his every pore a perfect seal. teeth like ivory, used delicately to inflict a pain pleasantly. His mind is an etch-a-sketch, a single line of thought expands into an organized madness. he is a man of many sounds, all of which tell you something about him - he is eager, sincere, boyish, enigmatic, pure. eyes alive like two magnetic coils, sizzling like a heated brand. he is more certain of the flicks of his tongue than the movement of his body and this speaks to his priority.  I've never seen a man more willing to love imperfect things. a patron saint in doc martens. he is ever unintentionally the accumulation of these things, to which the sum is incalculable.

Sometimes if I cry without making a sound
I can keep myself from a full on sob.
But if I make so much as a peep,
The mere sound of it forces me to fully acknowledge that it's happening.
Forces me to remember why.
And I can't stop what begins thereafter.