I was told to act like a lady and speak sugar coated words.
Cover my face in make up and look pretty for the world.

I was told to act like a lady and wear skirts not jeans.
Impress people around and make them all happy.

I was told to act like a lady and be polite to everyone.
Suffocate my own dreams and live like others.

I was told to act like a lady and keep my voice down.
Just pass smiles and not to laugh out loud.

I was told to act like a lady and be a lovable doll.
Let them play with me while I can't put up any walls.

I won't act like a lady and there's nothing you can do.
I'll be whoever I want to be, it's my kingdom to rule.

Hi, God. I'd tell you how I've been, but I know you already know. I wish I could lie and tell you I've been good. That everything is perfect and happiness is just beaming from my permanent smile. Those are superfluous words though. And there's no sense wasting our time on matters that don't exist.

I've been wanting to know how you've been. I just feel like our conversations have been kind of one sided. I keep talking about things you know, but for what? For reassurance? For you to tell me that it's okay, because we're all sinners and it's what you expect? I don't want to be like this though. Like them. This really can't be all I am. I wont accept that. I can't.

I wish you would talk to me. I know you hear what I'm saying. So, if you're listening why won't you answer? What do I have to do to hear your voice just once. I just want to know that I'll be okay. Even if this world is just seeping with chaos. I want to know that there's more to life than this. I'm sure you spend most of your day with your face in your hands because you gave us so much, but for what? All we do is throw it back in your face like we could have created something better.

Please just tell me how your day's been. I'm sure it's been great. I'm sure you're laughing at all the ways we try so hard to do things thinking we don't need your guiding hand. Did someone make you cry? Did someone make you question why something you created to define beauty turned out to be something so ugly and sinister? How did I make you feel today? I just hope you're happy. I hope you're not disappointed in me because I know I've let you down. I love you. I'm not good at showing it, but I do.

Well, I guess I'll talk to you again later. Have a good day.

• it's not that i don't love you
it's that when i was six, my mothers eyes were verdant fields illuminated by her laughter.
it's that my father came home that night, whiskey absorbed into his tongue, lavender lingering on his skin, the last two buttons of his shirt still undone.
it's that i always thought it was a tree branch caressing the windowpane at 2am.
when she was crying to the walls for help.
it's just that when he left, she started sleeping with the light on,
and her eyes died with winter's approach.
when they were together, her skin was a canvas for violet hues that burned like gin against your throat so she could never hug me.
it's that, last november when they healed, she painted them again - but this time in red.
it's that my mother didn't wear lavender.

• it's not that i don't love you
it's that my older sister doesn't leave her bedroom. i wonder if she misses the sunlight, or maybe if that's the problem.
it's that she told me that if people were colours he'd be red.
because she sees him in the sky when it sets.
and in the leaves that have been kissed by autumn.
it's that it's been a year, since she wrote that letter with scribbled letters and scattered thoughts,
talking about the way he said her smile reminded him of old movies,
and cotton candy.
and that she still loved him.
it's that last summer she went outside to feel his presence,
in the graveyard by the river - accompanied with lost lovers and broken hearts.
and it's that she came home and took a blade to her left wrist - heartbreak oceans leaving the sink painted scarlet.
it's that when the doctor asked her why she did it, she replied with:
"i forgot what red looked like."

• it's not that i don't love you
it's that once, my therapist told me about his wife.
and that she left him because her heart didn't beat for him anymore.
it's that when i told him my cat ran away last week
he smiled gently but with his eyes,
and replied, "don't worry, she's coming back."
like he had recited that phrase to himself a thousand times this week,
it's that i saw hope peck him on the cheek,
and ignite his eyes,
it's that i know they did that when she laughed like honey was melting into her tongue, or when she told him she loved the way his right eye was more green than the left.
it's just that, during my last visit,
he asked about my cat again,
and i had to tell him, "it's been months, i don't think she's coming home."
it's that he cried sapphire pools of misery,
because his eyes told me
he knew she wasn't.

it's not that i don't love you
*it's that i do

Did you wonder if
I caught your glances?
Yes, of course I did
and, I know you caught mine
No, it wasn't infatuation
it was a fascination that
your face graces my imagination
Yes, a shared moment,
and then quickly over