They said there was god,
I believed them.
They said I was wrong,
I believed them.
They said I was a loser,
I believed them.
They said I was arrogant,
I believed them.
They said I was a freak,
I believed them.
They said I was eccentric,
I believed them.
I believed them—I still do.
Because that’s what I do,
I believe in you.

And very much not you.

the sky paints a familiar purple
a lilac trailing in the form of clouds
its vivid reflection dancing upon your skin
and your fingertips, and mine,
and the corners of your lips.

sometimes, it's in the bruises on your knuckles
or the cold blueberries on somber evenings
the way lavenders adorn your long dark hair.
windswept yet sightly.
and your darling voice would lull me to sleep
and send my soul alight.

but time and again,
its the middle ground for the head and the heart
the brief moment between sunset and evenings
the mauve that says i love you without need for words.

assurance and certainty placed among the berried table
the courage to wade in it's deepest depths.
avert your gaze skyward and see
even the vibrant heavens can be
a place where you can lay your soul to rest.

I want to be a fruit tree
I want to grow something
joyful and bright and round as a plum that people could hold it in their hand and call it precious

I want to root into the earth
delivering freedom, arms open singing a cry that cracks at the sky to all gods listening
I want us to cry at the same time
because we're destined to cry for each other

I want to look down upon the pink flesh, familiar because it's my home, extended
my skin stretched out to be a fort for another, a shield and then a home
I want to be a shield and then a home

I want to give them a forest to hide in for solitude
or a labyrinth if they choose, and I'd understand why

I want to give them the mountain, the power to ascend
the hermits path unwinds for them as initiation
I want for us to always be connected
like the jewels that tremble inside caves awaiting discovery, how they owe their sunrise to the pressure of the night before.

pull out the knife,
from where you slid it in my side.
Let the blood,
rich and rosy,
drench your hands,
a reminder, a memento
to the times we passed
untainted, warm in the sun.
Avert your eyes,
from my prostrate pain,
out of sight,
you can raise your head,
pretending the role you played
didn’t bring me down.