weeks ago i was beautiful because you owned me.

tonight i am beautiful because you don't know what you're missing.

tonight i will kiss someone
and you will no longer be the only one who has tasted the liqueur of my lips
or perceived the garden that sleeps around my neck like a jewel.

tonight, another man will sample the variety of decedent wonders
that you took from me
forcefully
crushing
the crystals
and ripping
the satin

tonight
someone more gentle than you
will receive
the glory that i have to bestow
the power and pulsating, vibrating music in my walk
in the sway of my full hips

tonight
you
don't
know
what you're missing.

They say the pen is mightier than the sword
If this is true then God was the sword and you were a pen
And I was the pencil who laid you a foundation of erased mistakes only for you to trace upon them as if they didn't exist.
And I was cast in the bottom of some cluttered bag
while you were gently capped and placed in a box lined with blue silk,
And you knew I would always be there to test the waters before you spilled the pages with your brash delicacy.
But you needed me and I craved you for completion.
Together we created sweeping illustrations and lengthy novels with dozens of sequels.
We depicted a tale of modern love in our ball-pointed journey.
But my graphite stayed intact while your ink started to run out.
I could see as our pages unfolded that your colors no longer spread as boldly.
You became more and more invisible as I desperately etched harder and harder into every page hoping to give you clearer guidelines
but you no longer had it in you.
And soon enough we couldn't make anything beautiful.
You had run out.
And I'm still hopelessly drawing maps desperate that you can regain what you once had and use the indentations on previously blank pages to find your way back to me.