Treat me like you would your fingernails
Bite me without pause, a nervous, natural cause
Let me peel your fruit's skin, tear its precious flesh
Study me often, even when there are prettier sights to see
Press me into you when there's that itch
I become ***** and sharp, but you know how to fix me
Put me up to your head and run me through your hair
Attached to your hands, a naughty awakening you can't escape

-cj

let's talk about his
peanut butter thighs
and his cashew eyes
his cloaked voice that
floods me when he
speaks, and his
big hands and thin
fingers. Let's talk about
all of his parts that make
him whole and makes
my eggplant legs go
bump bump
in the night.

i'm not sorry
that i wanted sleep
more than your ****.

we don't use
punctuations
over messages
because we fear that
we'll expose any feelings
that we'll stop any
questions with our periods
raise unwanted questions
with any marks,
we don't use any punctuation
because we're afraid that our
feelings will show through how
many words we use and how we
end our sentences.

if i can shrink a single person to microscopic size and allow access to the deep recesses of my brain it would be you, yes I could talk and think all day long and only you would be the one to hear, but there are still parts of my brain that I wont let you in, the part where it has these fantasies of stroking your short fingers which you're so insecure about, the part of my brain with the fantasy of me telling you your fingers are beautiful and brush off any kind of protest from your part because I am thoroughly convinced that you are beautiful; you are beautiful and I don't mean I have been convinced I mean I believe, I believe in the single truth that you are beautiful and lovable and all things good, despite your demons and the things that make your life a hell sometimes, and most of the time in those days I just want to be a guardian angel and bring you back to earth. I wouldn't let you in the part of my brain where the angry thoughts lie because yes I have been frustrated at you sometimes but not you; I am angry at the things and people and places that make you forget that you are human, that you are worthy and loved; I am angry at the voices that tell you sometimes that you are a ******* because hearing those words from you was the most painful thing and I am angry, angry at them and you and myself, and id rather not have you see my anger; but I know you wouldn't want that because you want to be inside my head as much as I want to be in yours I hope I hope this is not a delusion. I don't want you to see the part of my brain where we lie in your squeaky bed and you climb up to me with your breath hot in my face; I don't want you in those parts of my brain because they shouldn't exist, but who am I to judge something's existence when it is already present in the first place, and I am quite **** sure that someday I will crack and let you in all those parts of my head anyway, and I will be helplessly looking at you get in those cracks and freeze and slowly back away with the saddest "i'm sorry" smile of all

there's something scratchy in my throat. behind my tongue. between my lips. it's ever-present, ever-changing, ever-clawing to be set free. it sits solemnly as i wake, stretching its own claws as i wind up, holding out for the moment i realize that i am conscious. once again. for another day. holding out for the moment i'm smiling, thinking this will be a better day. then it howls. scratches up, up, up. itches my tongue. pounds against my teeth, slithers between my lips, hisses. **maybe not.