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I know you practice your li[n]es,
you say, "make-up is not my thing,"
but put on layers of yellow paint
to hide the grays and blacks.

Oh how good you are,
how good of a liar you are,
to convince you and me,
that you are fine.

But sister, do you understand?
We are made of the same blood.
You will not hide from me,
no more running.

You can come undone to me,
and if you let me (please let me),
I'll be the one who'll hold off the rope,
help you become unbound.

Sister, I am here,
you can escape with me.
And I'll wait for that sunny Sunday morning,
when you're ready to be happy.
to my friends and the beautiful sisterhood that we have created
The glamour,
the lights and flashes,
the gold and the silver,
I call it home.

Crowds filling the seats,
then the shushing,
then the quiet,
and it starts.

They watch and follow,
little prying eyes,
where your feet goes,
where your fingers glide.

After all,
I'm a performer,
and this is the stage
that I call home.

But who stays
after the velvet curtain call.
When the show is done,
who remembers?

And what is remembered?
Aside from the weary bones,
broken ribs,
and flailing arms.

Who stays?
To sit on the red seats,
in the dark,
to watch a wretched performer?
for the enneagram type 3 - the actor and performer
For you, who is yet to come,
whom I exist for,
and would die for,

The other half of the tango,
whom I'd dance with,
and hum my songs to,

My adventure and haven,
who'd bring me to mountain peaks,
and ocean depths,

For you, who I can't seem to find,
my sweet love,
I ache to know,

How your caress feels,
the fire it brings to my *****,
the high and heaven it sends me

For you, who is yet to come,
in the quiet and the triumph,
in the chaos and the spring,

My most prized beloved,
your gold sunlit dancer
is waiting for you.
sundress on a hot day
hoist it up like no one's watching
it's la tomatina, darling
it's gotta be wild and freaky

sneak from the crowd
pull me to the alley
got your hands on my hips
your lips on my neck

do you hear me, darling
or my moans got buried in the parada
oh don't stop baby
this is espaƱa
I like the movie "Walking on Sunshine" and I enjoyed watching the Tomato Festival scene.
I do not have to meet you
so I can say that you're beautiful.
I know that you are,
and I know that you are gentle,
I know that you are kind,
welcoming, and forgiving.

I do not know but one day,
maybe I'll meet you on a busy day
as a patient or as a doctor,
or maybe on a warm Saturday,
as you call my name
written on a venti frappuccino.

All these uncertainties
will eventually lead me to that one moment
where I can say, "it makes sense now."
Why I had to hold the wrong hands,
why I had to lie in wrong rooms.

One day, I'll wake up and look,
there's the warmest smile in the world,
with the softest eyes and gentlest touch.
And he'll be angry at me sometimes,
but never disrespectful, never violent.

I will hold on to the many years
that I will spend not knowing you.
Until then, I will let everything
to not make sense yet,
and ready myself for the perfect moment.
one day, I will read my poems to you.
One day,
you'll have a beautiful daughter.
She'll have your eyes,
your nose, and your smile.

Maybe you would name her
Adelaine or Elizabeth.
Maybe give her Liz or El
as a nickname.

And one day,
she's going to come home crying,
she's going to drown herself
in insecurities and self-hate.

Because a boy,
because someone just like you,
did the things you did to me,
to her.
I see it all
you, me, us
In the kitchen
dancing in sepia lights

In the mall
between the aisles
bouncing and tip-tapping
when a happy beat comes on

In the bed
between the sheets
with a faint morning light
escaping between the curtains

But now I also see
the invisible bruises
that you left in my heart
and in my mind

The harsh words
that came out of your soft lips
The heavy and strong hands
that played beautiful melodies

I see it all now
like tasting Cherry Wine
that is sweet and bold
but leaves a bitter aftertaste
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