I trusted you.

It's not much, three words
not love or endless faith proclimations
nothing more than a smile and a fond glance, maybe
it's not like we've known each other all that long

but it adds up, you know?
Simple math, add the hours to the days
and those conversations we had late at night
and get the solution:
a night where I felt like I could pour out my soul
Not much, not much,
but enough

Then shock, betrayal
I added it wrong, carried a one that wasn't there
and somehow expected more of you
My mistake, tactically stupid, I know
Who goes to war with an ally they hadn't tried in battle
with no written record of a truce?
Rookie mistake.

I won't be so foolish again

My lips weren’t made for kissing.
I fear they’ve forgotten how, most times
It’s been years
since I practiced
speaking the language
of bodies
of heated palms and parted lips
of skin on skin

Would you be willing to relearn with me?
Spend long nights with
our heads bowed over foreign text books
I promise to add
my knowledge to yours
if you promise to stroke
my spine
to whisper and gasp this language
as it comes back to me

I’ve never pulled an all-nighter
to study a subject
but I swear
that to learn this language
I’ll meet with you
every night
like there’s an exam the next day

I’ll spend hours on each sound
whole days on single words
mouthing my way
until I’ve memorized
that week’s vocabulary
then go just a bit longer,
never hurts to be sure,
just in case I’ve missed something

I’ll use my tongue as a highlighter
brightening spots
I never want to forget
with color that rises
from beneath your skin
and revisit them often
to make sure
they stick in my memory

And when we need to run through the lists
we can press our lips
together
(to make sure we’re
pronouncing it right)
We may even
have to keep it up
for hours
to get the whole list right
until we’re perfectly in sync.

Everyone knows it takes years
to learn a new language
but I’d sacrifice decades
to be fluent
in you.

I need kisses
like a fish needs colored rocks
and a bear needs honey

I need it like
eyes need sunglasses
and skin needs sunscreen

Like people need chocolate
or french fries or fried food
or fast wi-fi or vacation

The thing about needing
- I don't
- It'd be nice though

In my mind, he is the color green.

Have you ever looked around and seen
Just how much of life is green?
And I'm not talking nature,
Any introvert can close the blinds,
And forget leaves in winter
And grass under snow.
But he's the green of a start button
Of the t-shirt you forgot to throw into last week's wash
Of the tiles in the bathroom
And the leggings on a stranger.
He's the green that means "go"
And it makes me... stop.
Reverse.
Climb inside where the air is clear
and smells of rain
and everything is Blue.

But my girl, she was Red.
The sort that bleeds
Into ink black or blue

Dear two year old me,
You've been walking for a year now,
And oh! The places you'll go!
The people you'll see, and love, and hurt.
This is your superhero's backstory, you'll see.

Dear four year old me,
I'm so proud of you,
Losing yourself in books already,
Keep your smile ready, darling,
It's going to be rough for a while.

Dear six year old me,
Those kids who threw pine cones
Called you ugly at the bus stop
And made you run home in tears,
Baby Girl, they don't matter.

Dear eight year old me,
That teacher who sneered "just like your mom"
like a barbed insult and a doomed future
was just a mean confused white lady,
Who never even tried to get to know you or your wonderful mother.

Dear ten year old me,
Playground marriages were just for show
Everyone else got remarried day by day
You only had eyes for one, but that's okay
Your loyalty will bring you happiness, one day.

Dear twelve year old me,
You really are too young to date,
and I know everyone else is doing it,
but none of them last, baby girl,
waiting is totally okay.

Dear fourteen year old me,
You've been in love for so long,
It's really just like breathing, isn't it?
But you're too young to know what toxic is
Don't worry, ***, you'll be so much better.

Dear sixteen year old me,
It hurts. I know it hurts. It hurts so much.
You'll teach yourself to keep busy day by day
But honey your lungs only burn because you've been
Breathing smoke for so long fresh oxygen tastes poisonous.

Dear eighteen year old me,
You'd think me soft, now. Emotional. Weak.
But crying is okay, sweet one, wanting hugs is okay
Feeling used is okay. Wanting love is okay.
It's going to be okay.

On Sunday he pressed his lips against my throat
in a joking sort of kiss
all waggled brows and hidden giggles
and I said "oh my god what are you doing"
and we dissolved into snickering

And on Wednesday me and he sat
and watched TV and played horror games
all terror and smiles and fond glances
and I said "it's your turn don't roll your eyes at me"
and I forgot my responsibilities when he did it anyway

On Sunday we shared a glance over breakfast snacks
and danced on stage and talked around him
all raised brows and aching cheeks
and I said "we'd have cute kids your hair, my everything else"
and I don't remember what his face was, from the ground

And on Wednesday, he laid on my couch
and I sat in my armchair
all relaxation and easy conversation
and he said "wait, are you really going to marry him?"
and I don't remember answering

And on Sunday we raised our eyes to heaven
and sang songs to the God my mother loves
all easy grace and accidental harmonies
and I thought "why would I marry him I love you"
and I sat alone