Dark eyes make me melt

Light eyes pull me in

Brown eyes are my weakness

Blue eyes are my sin

Come spring, she leaped across the grassy dune,
Beaming with sheer joy as she hummed a halcyon tune.
Her beauteous almond eyes- the biggest, the brightest.
A bonnie spotted doe in her warm, homely forest

Come summer, by her gushing little lake she played.
When upon a solitary, pensive buck her eyes she laid.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While his eyes curiously lingered, hers wandered on ahead.

Come monsoon, he adored her eyes, her gilded coat, her bushy tail.
The passionate warmth in her eyes with affection made him frail.
Yet, she went on with her blissful life- devoid of any care.
Oblivious of the buck who always stopped to stare.

Come winter, by his side chattering happily she grazed.
Soon, his feelings faded; by almond eyes no longer crazed.
Like currents in the water, apart they drifted and drifted.
New lake. Nonchalant silence. No words were said.

Come fall, she found that he still leaped through her mind.
The emotion she once scoffed in her heart now enshrined.
Eyes met across the smiling lake; too soon gazes parted.
While her dull eyes wistfully lingered, his wandered on ahead.

(you are not mine)

I ride this wave alone.
surfboard.
crash.
drown.

up for air.
breathe again.
eyes open.
sunshine.

feet on sand.
i escaped the pull of pain.
within the waves.
of heartache.

i long for you.
to wrap me in a towel.
your arms.
cradle my small body.

strip out of wetness.
step into heat.
water washing away the fear.
i felt in the sea.

------

(and if you were...)

crawl into sheets.
mattress underneath,
you on top.
all your weight.
pushing me into bliss.

rise.
from slumber.
your body against mine.
warmth and wetness meet again.

chew. swallow.
nourished by grains.
tea,
brew.
wake me further.

my day begins and ends.
with you.
i find my way.
back to your love.

troubled.
over-thinking.
you quiet the noise.
crippled.
you caress this soul.

i meet the sea again.
and you pull me free.
from the waves.
of a scarred brain.
that has seen evil.
and monsters.

you love me regardless.
of my foibles.
and.
you set me free.

Do
  raindrops
    envy tears Because
  they glide gently down
 cheeks, And aren't falling
onto concrete? Do raindrops
envy tears As they come from
   pure emotion And aren't
        equivalent to vapor?

                                                      ­                                                         Do tears
                                                                ­                             envy raindrops
                                                       ­                             Which have no say
                                                                ­              in their falling And don't  
                                                         ­                    have to feel ashamed? Do    
                                                                ­          tears envy raindrops Because
                                                                ­             they need not feel pain, Or  
                                                                ­                   fear or heartbreak?

there was something unfair about the morning after

freshly showered, I arrived at the breakfast table
I was late
your friend talked loudly with my sister about rugby and I had
to sit on a stool because all the other chairs had been taken
you never looked up from your plate

this was the first time you made me feel
      small and ordinary
like it wouldn't have mattered if it was me or not
that my honest skin and wet hair
displeased
maybe
disappointed you

you,
the boy who usually restored self confidence
kept your eyes on the glass you were asked to pour for me
and never looked at my face
but passed the juice across the table still

I ate in silence in the laughing room
waiting
trying to steal your eyes and share a smile
but you never looked

and by lunch
our flame was out

Do you know the darling Abigail?

She lives inside my mirror.

The little ****** girl,

With the wicked smile so queer.

Do you know the darling Abigail?

She laughed and smiled and danced.

The she beauty beheld at once,

Did leave me so entranced.

Abigail is in my head,

She’d never been before.

The ****** beauty lies there,

Smiling calmly on the floor.

Oh behest the silent beauty,

She creeps beneath the bed.

In solemn mocking silence,

She crawls inside my head

I regret that faithful night of poisons,

The dancer i did betray.

It was never my intention,

to send Abigail to her grave.

I guess there is no repenting,

There’s nothing i can do.

At night i feel her cold dark hands,

And her smile of  “how dare you.”

tight silk ******* with the lilac bra to match,
cream coloured knee high socks.
a collection of classic rock on vinyl and a compliments jar covered in news articles.

too many celebrity perfumes, but a versace collection that makes her think of the beach;
peach smelling deoderant.

chapter books on the floor accompanied by hair ribbons of baby blue and cotton candy pink,
****** by Vladimir Nabokov laying near the juvinile pale legs of beautiful sixteen,
as she paints each toe nail red, pink, white.

almost naked body, remember her tight, fresh lace set
hair perfectly auburn, lips perfectly light coral
mouth slightly open
Led Zepplin playing.
hairspray and rose powder,
unlit vanilla candles and twilight scented creams
she smells faintly of Modern by Banana Repulic and her daddy's cigarettes.

silently waving, a flag of patriotism
the beautiful, elegant sixteen.

-part 1

conceptcollection

I’m a child and not a bride, but
Last month you made me marry you.
You know it wasn’t love that made me say yes
But the fear of what shape my death could take
If I were to turn you down. Of course
I had no voice. I could only muse to myself
In the dark closet and imagine myself
A mother at thirteen: would it be awesome?
Would it be dreadful? Would it…? I died of anxiety.

Last month you made me marry you.
I had no time to discover me for myself:
Who I was, what I was, what I wanted to be;
I had no time to think before I had to say yes.
But it pains my bones to the marrow.
I am an unripe fruit for the eating.
I am a piece for the show-glass.

Last month you made me marry you.
I spent nights upon nights weeping over how you’ve
Broken me; how you’ve set my life ablaze
Like a forest in a wildfire;
And now the once-upon-a-time sweet sounding music
Of my soul is burnt into silence.
I have forgotten the dialect of my soul.
I hush. I hush. I hush. I hush. I hush.
You have beaten silence into me,
And now I have to prepare to moan and wail
Beneath your weight, while I watch you helplessly
As you bite into my innocence,
As you suckle the un-ripeness out of me,
As you dig into my childhood and pleasure yourself
In the childhood screams you hear from me.
But it isn’t the fun that makes me scream.
It is the bitter pain of knowing, of remembering
That my life ended at thirteen:

Broken like a fallen calabash
In the hands of a fifty-five year old man.