Brown
Your eyes are beautiful
Somehow magical
They’re
Blue
Green
And all the colors combined
The best of all worlds

Hazel
Your eyes shine
A sea of caramel that glints in the light
Small nuggets of gold swim through them
Day and night

Grey
Your eyes are the strongest of steel
The color of old movies and graphite
The feeling of turning old pages in a book

Black
Your eyes are molten rock
The inside of angry
But the cozy of a warm cup
Your everything nobody wanted to be
So you became it for them
You are beautiful

Green
Your mother natures favorite color
Life
You’re alive
We can see it in your eyes
You’re favored in the flora

Blue
Your eyes are the white tipped ocean waves
The color of the sky and falling rain
You are the sea and the sky
Everywhere

But all these eyes hide something
Pain
Love
Hate
Feeling
All of them own a secret
Never the same
But all of them are beautiful
That will never change

My life is like a song
I’ve had more verses than I can remember
And the chorus drives me crazy from time to time
My life is like a song
I keep wondering when the bridge will come
And if the outro will follow soon after
Maybe I’ll get a chance at another verse
But maybe not
My life is like a song
The outro terrifies me
So does the bridge
For the bridge is the beginning of my end
Maybe it’ll be a nice change of pace
Maybe the bridge is years long and I have nothing to worry about
But maybe the bridge is a fleeting feeling
Two wandering gazes that meet in a crowd
A strangers hand brushing against another’s
A conversation that ends so quick when you wanted it to last forever
My life is like a song
I don’t know if you’ll be the bridge, the chorus, the outro or a verse
I can only hope that you’ll be one of them

(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

His hands seemed almost bizarre on the fork.
How can something so large handle something so small?
Did my mother's hand fit into his at all?
I wondered as he chewed up the dead pork.

"It does not taste right." He says as he takes another bite.
The blood is foaming from his open mouth.
"It is half-cooked and still fresh; the animal still tries.
to outrun his flesh. It is hard to bite and dry."

He tries to say as he swallows, even as it rots
He keeps just eating more. Then he slams the fork.
chants curses that would put a priest inside the morgue
I listen to him call God as I ponder about loving

In the black and white pictures, it existed.
where my mother's eyes still smiled
where her movements were not rehearsed
where she didn't have to keep the glass half full so it wouldn't burst

I see her in my reflection: a sad-eyed girl.
with a table filled with savory and sweet
But Mother, do we share this quiet rage when we eat?
You wish you could replace his head on the plate?

Mother, are you a good actress?
Do you keep knives under your dress?
Does your mind create images?
Where you pay off all the witnesses.

"Will you ever feed me something other than your tears?"
He shouts as he slams his fists.
and his hands make sounds
as loud as war bombs

We learned when to be quiet.
when to soak up all the silence
But, Mother, in your mind, is he still the head of the table?
Or just a head on the plate?

breathe
do you feel your lungs expanding?
do you feel you chest rising?
open
open your eyes
do you see the sun?
the moon?
the stars?
the clouds?
all of them were made for you
you
wonderful
       beautiful
                lovely
                                ­           YOU
sincerely,
someone who cares

It’s said that the human body replaces itself
With entirely new cells every seven years.

In seven years, I will be free from your touch.

In seven years your fingerprints will
No longer be burned into my skin.
In seven years I will be able to
Wash my body and finally feel clean.

In seven years I will be able to kiss
Without getting sick in a cold toilet,
Sobbing sobbing sobbing,
Because my tongue tastes of you.

In seven years, maybe I won’t
Lock my bedroom doors,
Fearing a monster that lives
Not under the bed.

In seven years, one more woman
Will pretend to feel free.

I dont feel safe anywhere ,
Your touch haunts me everywhere.
When I see you i feel an urge to throw up,
When i think of you i fall apart.
Sinking into this infinite loop,
The more I sink the more i feel like a fool.
You forgot about me .
But your touch haunts me .
I am scared that it will happen again.
It doesn't feel valid,
I wasn't *****.
It seems like they don't care.
Because we were kids,
Because i wasnt *****.
I would rather be lost with a bear,
Than be lost with a man.

“What’s the harm?” they whisper,
“What’s the problem
in being everyone’s fantasy?”
“In having all of your friends
find your flesh attractive?”
“Having the pretty privilege
morph into the entitlement of others?”

As they claim my skin
and caress my bones.
Peeling pieces of my body
and making themselves at home.

Consent is implied
within the lines
of whatever bond we hold.
Friends, family, lovers.
What’s the harm in giving them
what they want,
what they demand they need.
In watching them eat you up
With a never ending greed.

“But you’re my fantasy”
as if I’m obligated
to the impressions of me
you’ve shoved down my throat.
Until I’m choking and sobbing
pleading you to relinquish your hold.

Your eyes leave imprints and bruises
as you salivate over a body
I don’t even see.
It was only 3rd grade.
Again, when merely rending
the damaged goods of a teen.
By the time I was an adult
it was the only way I was seen.

But age matters not,
when you were never perceived
as a human being,
simply a desire
for others to devour.

“What’s the harm in being a *** dream?”
They scream “we’re all friends here”
as they render my sobriety to shreds
Only to tell me that it’s all in my head.

Society taught me to turn a blind eye,
“what’s the harm?” It said with a sigh.
They drugged me with ignorance,
refuting my plea.

A passing inconvenience for you
Born of my own naïveté,
is a trauma memory
that I can never undo.

There isn’t a piece of me
you’ve not seen,
nothing left of myself
to discover.
You’ve rendered my own exploration
into nothing more than a detour.

You’ve taken every first
I could have claimed
and thought to beat a dog
was the equivalent of making it tame. 
So now I’m sobbing into a void
wondering why I was ever
a thing that you could destroy?