If you're the blanket then I'm the stitches,
If you're the needle then I'm the mittens,
If you're the water then I'm the kettle
And if you're the rash then I'm the nettle.

If I'm the icing on the cake
Then you're the blow, the burn, the break.
If I'm the claws of a neighbour's cat
Then you're the nose of each dead rat.
If I'm the clock on the microwave
Then you're the cancer and the grave
And if I'm a schemer's dossier
Then you're the board on which he plays.

If you're the hair pulled at hysterically
Then I'm the teacher steeped in austerity.
If you're the cuff that's come unrolled
Then I'm the base camp unpatrolled.
If you're the tea leaves left behind
Then I'm the fortune undivined
And if you're the reason I'm capricious
Then I'm the reason you're pernicious.

If I'm the strap, love, you're the sandal,
And if I'm the drugs then you're the scandal.
If you're goodbye, love, I'm the foyer,
And if I am "je" then you're "tutoyer".

forgot to say everything or
anything. forgot to tell you
how often the stars rotate
whilst you spin twinkling
patterns out in footsteps, two
moments ahead. been so
**** down& out but
still still still still cascading
on this feeling, lingering out
of nights traversed. 'sometimes'
weighs down on me. sleeping
slow, to stay alive. to see you,
shimmering, lithe.

maybe there's nothing else,
these waves crashing
foreign chaotic tongue at
fingertips we held at rend,
this unhollowing ghost
is all yours.
this only moment.

deep breath, filling out,
this empty universe glimmering
between collected palms.
all else forgotten. just
you, just i.

"Where did we go wrong?"
They say.
"How did such conservative parents,
Raise such a liberal daughter?"
Its called,
Drum roll please,
Shes gay.
And she wants human rights for her people.
She wants equality,
And change.

It starts
in the quiet
itching in the fingers
like new skin knitting under blistered burns.

I have always written.
Before I had my letters
(before the lessons
with stubby pencils
curving sense out of the air)
I would scrawl nonsense waves
folding and boiling
in a crash of senseless surf
onto pages meant for pictures

I scribbled a whole Atlantic
before sense and sound
delivered the waves to reason.

I still find it hard,
when writing,
not to let the rolling sea
scatter into fragment waves
that whisper into the breeze of my fingers.

I have tried many addictions,
I have spent people like money.
I have tied my hands
to stop from fussing at the leaves.
If I ever loved I left it still spinning,
but I have never lost the itch

a pen to scratch its bleed of ink
into a sweet clean ****** page.
To scrawl my feint history
in every broken harbour
of her yielding skin.

"It's going to get worse," you wrote,
Your disappointment drenched me like a cold rain

And all I could do was apologize,
Insist I didn't mean it,
Beg you for another chance

But saving this was like trying to resuscitate a man shot 56 times

We all lie in the beds we make,
But the worst part is wondering,
*"What if?"

sext: "want me to come over? I have blunts!"
why not, why not have over a guy who I met 4 days ago?
beautiful eyes, expensive car, ****

just the thought of my heart fluttering a thousand miles a minute,
the effects of the drug indistinguishable from my reaction to physical contact,
was enough for me to open my door (and my legs) to this boy

he was an okay kisser.
he (attempted) to pleasure me before himself.
he was confused as to why I didn't **** him.
he left right after he finished.
he hasn't texted me since.

we didn't even get high.

No matter how small or big a circle is...it's all *endless