Today I wed to myself
I take this tired hand in marriage
The weary days and heartache will be no longer
I let go of the shadows of you
In this light I glow purple
And sleep with the sound of solitude

Humans were not built for solitude
I used to say to myself
Even the richest queens wearing purple
Always give themselves away in marriage
So I must give my hand away to you
Then the loneliness will be no longer

Out of the maze one can be lost no longer
It can be a gift this solitude
I never really needed you
I keep telling myself
All these people getting into marriages
Something, old, new, borrowed, and purple

You know it’s the color of royalty, purple
And if you are royalty your love is supposed to last longer
It will be a diamond marriage
And you will never have to experience solitude
The days waking up by myself
Will be interrupted by you

My mother did suggest that about you
That there was something just a bit… purple
About the way you made me feel when I was by myself
And that maybe my soul would last longer
If I just let myself sit in the solitude
And maybe reconsider this thing she did called marriage

Do you regret your marriage?
I asked my mom and she said you
can not understand until you have experienced solitude
just enjoy this period so purple
and the longer
you do you will realize laughing by myself

Or even crying by myself
will no longer
make you feel so purple.

Dear axe,
Hope you are well. Are you still seeing ?
I know you might not want to but I would like to , even
though   selfish. You always said that about me --
“ self-editorialize.” I
never why you question . You know that it
made me love . Put me anxious
because it preyed memories
when mom and dad left when they flew away to make
for my education.

Love,
Sam

I could not sleep last night
I was woken up by their yelling
I tried to ignore it as tears streamed gently
Down my closed eyelids
Then pounding on my door
I timidly step out of bed
Smoke rolling he screams that he cannot do it anymore

I am paralyzed
What am I supposed to say
I curl up in a ball
Retreat
retreat
retreat
re --

How many times can I say sorry it’s become a cliche but i can’t seem to stop because the guilt gnaws at me like a persistent child knocking
at your door or a mosquito determined to stick itself in your
veins and keep you up from sleep while he is at it no matter
how many times you swing at it with frustrated fists or bury your head under the covers of your neon sheets the same ones that you had when you were six and banging on your parents' door (although it probably sounded like a gentle knock to them) crying unformed words and blurry thoughts you wish you remembered what it was about so you could talk about it with Dr. Oddo and try to parse it until it all makes sense and maybe even explain why the other day you couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and swelling into the mosquito bite that you were unable to stop.