You wanted to hold me
but you can’t.

You’re like my version of Edward Scissorhands.

Everytime you try to hold me,
your blades get in the way.

I bled.

My hands were wounded deep.
That’s what I got
for trying to cling onto you.

I didn't mind the damage.
I thought I was numb enough
to hold on to you
but I was just hurting myself.

You’re scared.

Not because you inflict pain to others.
You’re afraid to see
how people bled for you


and that’s what hurts you too.

I recall our high place
Where we worshipped on summer nights
Sitting on the pond bank
Watching the sky's reflection on the still waters
Every star perfectly mirrored
We skipped stones along the lucid summer sky
Paying our tithes with moist kisses
Eternity whispered in our ears with breezes
Prayers scattered along the waters edge in white flower petals
We two children, closer to whatever God resided then in our hearts,
Than we would ever be again
Our laughter echoed like church bells rang on Sundays for worship call
The moon, our reverend, calling our hearts
To The Great Alter of All That Is
Time was still and stollen
We lived then,
I go there sometimes still and think of you
Since you were plucked so carelessly as the most beautiful of lotus lillies
~A

What's the point in leaving if I wasn't even there in the first place
I don't like loud spaces, I don't like feeling like I can't look someone in they eye because I know that they will judge me and talk about me as if I'm not present
Strangers touch me and I feel like I've been stripped down to my skeleton
They make a joke because they saw me staring into space
They knew I was present
They knew I wasn't even there
What's the point in leaving if I wasn't even there in the first place

-E (c) 2017

I found myself hugging my closet this morning
I got up, walked over to her, stood in front of her and stuck my hands between some things hanging,
Put my cheek against the cold plastic of the hangers, and it felt right

Now this sounds strange
But something became quite clear to me when I felt like my closet was hugging back
It's not the things you wear, it's how you wear them
My closet loves me because I wear my clothes freely
I never wore them to please anyone else
That's why when he told me he wanted me to wear something else I said, "No."
Because my fashion is a part of me and it has been
Whether I was in the fourth grade, wearing my lily pad skort, pink Mary Janes and a neon green top
Or in college,
Unapologetically sporting my baggy white tee, ripped jeans, Birkenstocks and socks
I will not submit to you

My clothes love me back because I am not afraid
My closet hugs me back because she knows that I will never again let a man tell me
"That's ugly."
My fashion is my power.
Let it ring from every tower, you will not tell me what I can put on this body ever again
My body is my temple, and it was not built on your land so you can
Shove it

-E (c) 2017