when we met, the colors and the sounds of everythingness faded away until there was nothingness. it was 11:30 and you were beautiful.

when the early morning light crashed through the blinds and landed on your sleeping face, it was 8:30 and you were beautiful.

when we went to the mountain that day and played in the sky, your smile shone so bright i thought it might never dim-- it was 4:30 and you were beautiful.

the night we had gas-station sushi and you spent hours bent over the toilet, i held your hair and you smiled a thank-you at me with dribble on your chin.
by god... it was 2:30 and you were beautiful.

now i hold your hand, cool and soft and decorated with decade-old kisses from the sun. your eyes are closed.

it was 9:30 when you left me, and you were beautiful.

i suppose i find comfort in the next life
whatever form i might take
something to look forward to in the next chapter

my cat sleeps in the sunspot on my bed. her throat remembers the deep rumbling of content, my idea of yesterday's heaven.

my garden, filled not with zinnias, but with families and friends, reminds me so suddenly of change.

my mom and dad sit in the yard-- his hand resting casually on the arm of her chair, holding a glass of water that's sweating in the summer sun. i can see them smiling from here.

i peek out the doors and windows, camera in hand, anxious to catch every breath, every moment of this day,

just in case my mind forgets

i was born in the year of soft blue baby blankets.

my mother was a summer night with a symphony of crickets, and fireflies dancing in the leaves of her big maple tree.

my father? he was hide-and-seek in the trees and animal sounds and gut-splitting laughter.

so i think sometimes... is it any wonder i grew up to be some kind of funky cross between aslan the lion and the prettiest kind of butterfly?

take a long look at me-- i'm effervescent, like glimmering lights after a ball. i'm warm, like a long hug after too much space. i'm bright, like eyes shining with tears from laughter. i'm beautiful.

sweet exhale... sun-chapped lips sing eagerly of love.
you speak with such pure, blissful blindness.

her cold fingers sculpt carefully the heartbreak... but lost is whose heart makes up the rubble crushed beneath her pointed boot.

the hurt i carry with me is inescapable... the universe seldom graces me with smiles.

"loving" someone like that is straight sin: sacrilegious, like wearing jeans to ash wednesday. she doesn't fit.

your stubbornness is infuriating

(trigger warning... mentions of r*pe)


before the law sITs a gatekeeper,

deCider of fates, seer Of truths, and dispatcher of jUstice.

a Lot of people lie, so the gatekeeper guarDs the law, afraid of what

might happen come retriBution day, when an innocent man goEs to

prison.


innocent mAN goes to prison. innocent man. innocent man.


the gatekeeper fears for the man, protects the man. lord forbid an

innocent man goes to jail for something he didn’t do.

“plus, chicks exaggerate **** all the time. . .[theY] could **** [a]

**** and still [call] **** just because [they don’t] want it later on”  


plus, a lot of people lie.


drunk guys always get the benefit of dOubt. drunk womeN do not.

what wEre you wearing? were you flirting? dO you have a boyFriend?

were you drinking?


one in five women are ***** or sexually assaUlted.Seventy percent of

women ages 18-24 are assaulted each year. no more than twenty percent

of ****** assaults are reported.


and yet the gatekeeper sits and protects the law. protects the man.


it could be me! one in five women! it could be me

or her

or her

or you

when will we teach boys not to **** instead of teaching girls how not to be *****?

i don’t want to worry about going to a party or going to a friend’s house and waking up with Him inside of me

i don’t want to worry about going to a festival and putting down my drink for a second, only to pick it back up and feel dizzy after a few sips, go back to my tent and wake up with Him inside of me

i don’t want to confide in friends and family and try to find justice and be accused of lying about something so personal

i don’t want to have the guilt and the shame and the anger follow me for years after, chasing me like some monster from a storybook

i don’t want to have to know that people believe Him over me

i don’t want to see him around town and know what he did and know he could do it again

when will we teach boys not to **** instead of teaching girls how not to be *****?

it could be me. and i don’t want to be *****.