Write it in pen, write it in pen
You can’t take it back if you write it in pen

Say it out loud, say it out loud
You can’t hide from it if you say it out loud

Think of it more, think of it more
You can’t run from it if you think of it more

Tell your best friend, tell your best friend
You won’t be alone if you tell your best friend

i.
he calls you soft, and you tremble
he calls you soft, and you quake,
he calls you soft, and you shatter
he calls you soft, and you break

ii.
you are sunlight. you are bright.
you are the breeze. you are the flight.
you are shivers. you are sweat.
you pray to remember. you pray to forget.

iii.
she smiles. you are lost.
your fingers tangle. there is no cost.
she whispers. you tilt your head.
you bite your lip. it remains unsaid.

iv.
you are alone. you don't mind.
you are alone. you want to cry.
you are alone. you've had much worse.
you are alone. the poet's curse.

I. Honey Whiskey

her eyes are too dark, but they burn when she thinks of them. everything burns, her chest, her face, her skin.s he can’t imagine what it would be like, to have her skin flush with hers in ways that weren’t so innocent. she can’t meet her eyes anymore without feeling her torso heat like she’d just downed a shot.

II. Prism

“despair is a prism.” she can’t see her, but she remembers the way her eyes get, like she’s looking at something too far away to see clearly. “you need it to see that sunshine isn’t just grey, it’s every color of the rainbow, stacked on top of each other.” it’s hard to stay too sad when she spouts things like this, without warning and completely unprovoked.

III. Chlorine Thighs

they’d never actually been in a pool together so this had to be a dream. sunlight streamed through her hair like the water did, and she’d blame that for the shivers down her spine whenever their eyes met. She was babbling about something, anything, trying to keep her frame of mind, derailed by even the slightest giggle. she didn’t mean to dream them so close together, but her laughter filled the air, and they were nose to nose, and she smelled like chlorine. she woke before she knew if she tasted the same.

IV. Headlights

she’s afraid of driving, and claims she’s a better copilot. it hurts her heart to heart to hear it, sweet indulgent pain. she’s tying to remember to keep her eyes on the road and only letting herself glance over every so often. she looks beautiful in the flashes of her periphery vision, and as their voices rise in accidental harmony, she can’t help but glance over for a bit too long, memorizing the moment. eyes closed, lips parted, head tilted back… she looks like a vision. she almost forgets that green means anything more than being able to see her better.

V. Refuge

she hadn’t meant to cry. it was obvious in the way she stood, in the way she held herself a bit too upright, moved with too much purpose. she remember the way she’d stared at the ceiling as though breathing was too much, the way she didn’t even seem to see the things she was doing. she hadn’t known what to do besides hold open her arms, and then it had began. she held so tightly it was like she didn’t believe she was real. her breath came out all at once, and then she was breathing too quickly, hitches and gasps and small little shivers that only made her hold on her tighten further. her breath was warm against her shoulder, her fingers ****** in her shirt, and she was content to stand here, solid, safe, and wait for her to collect herself. no matter how long it took.

Deafened am I, by the screeches of familiarity

for here I am, a man
a woman, a girl, a boy,
silent are your cries for change,
deaf am I to the monotonous yelling
you want change. I have changed
details, insubstantial, minuscule,
deaf to your judgement and lies
unable to hear your disappointment
I cannot hear your subtle cues
your doubt and leading questions
I cannot bear your curiosity
searching for what you’ve missed
missing your oblivious admirer
I am no longer she

He says she’s changed.

Gone are the days when their fingers touched with same sparks that sent fireworks skyward. Gone are the days where they’d send spells into the sky on the fourth, dangerous, daring, delusional, promising that everyone expected fireworks anyway. Gone are the days where she would stare into his eyes and dream of lips that tasted like freedom.

She looks at him with sadness now. She’d gotten out. She’d beaten the high that filled her whenever she grabbed hold of the universe, and forged it like iron between her fingers. She was naturally strong, he was naturally talented, together they had been the A team.

But she’d left. She’d shook her head and stepped back and ignored the magic at her fingertips, even when he brought in their other friends. Even when he built his little coven. Even when he extended his hand and smiled like sparks in the dark. Even when his eyes promised forever.

The weather is hot and humid, like the memory of shared gazes and sweaty palms. He hugs her like a question. She hugs him like a farewell.

She looks into the summer sky and imagines she can see heaven.

She pleads with her God on hands and knees with gasps and sobs and shaking.

*Save him.
Please please please please
Save my best friend.

I.
It feels like an itch beneath her skin, like static electricity, like all her hairs on end, and she loves it. She knows that if she would only spread her fingers and say the words, she knows that if she were to close her eyes and open them again, the world would be in colors that no one else could see. She knows that if she would only let it free, it would spark and be euphoric-
her hand clenches into a fist. she ignores it.

II.
Her spellbooks are stacked haphazardly in boxes and her shelves are full of YA fiction. She does not go into the attic anymore. She lets them collect dust. She does not pour over old latin phrases or study greek for any other reason than to read Homer. She concentrates on Biblical Greek. A silver cross hangs around her neck. Her notebooks of tediously written translations are scattered to the winds. They are replaced with collegiate notes and short stories.She is a scholar. Her curiosity is never sated.
She does not go into the attic.

III.
Sometimes she wakes up five feet from her bed, her nose brushing the ceiling. Sometimes she’ll feel the wind and clouds pick up her emotions. Sometimes she hears the whispers of the dead. But they are whispers. Her prayers are louder. She closes her eyes and grasps at control, waiting until the forecast is correct again. She clutches her golden cross and tearfully waits until her back hits mattress.
It will pass it will pass it will pass.

IV.
She studies more now than she ever had. The girl who’d been able to get by on lectures alone is no longer satisfied with a B/C average. She hones her writing skill until it is sharp as a blade. She beats her pen to paper as though it can lead her to salvation as well as The Good Book. Sometimes she falls asleep at her desk and her papers float around her.
She buys more paperweights.

V.
The future is shadows and whispers. No longer do other people’s auras paint her vision with colors no one else can see. No longer do other people’s deaths and loved ones press themselves behind her eyes. No longer does she peer into souls that only stare back. They blur together like retired nightmares. She does not hear their voices. She does not see their faces.
Her vision is only 20/20.

This is who I am.

Thunder in the distance, coming or leaving? Staying or going? Coming or

Leaves falling from healthy trees like lush green flower petals, summer or autumn? Spring or winter? Summer or

Falling raindrops, water from seas you've never seen. Seas you've only touched. Creek or Sea? Lake or river? Creek or

Seeing children, small and smiling. Simple laughter, tantrum-less playdates and fairy tale stories. Park or playground? Street or yard? Park or

Playthings, dusty, slightly used. A yardsale full of stories. That was my favorite, once. Doll or teddy? Ball or necklace? Blanket or

Sheets blowing on gentle breezes. Wet, warm, drying. Not quite abandoned, but left to its devices. Lonely or purposed? Chore or necessity? Lonely or

Purposeful smiles for those you dislike. Cutting insults for those you enjoy. Love for sunshine. Love for Trash. Hatred for misses. Hatred for Jests. Cruel or fair? Friend or foe? Cruel or

Faires that leave no trace when they're gone. Festivals that stay only long enough for a single good memory. Happy memories with no roots. Steadfast or fantasy? Risky or Safe? Steadfast or

Fantasies about handholding, about side eyes and smiles, about inside jokes. Dreams about darkness, about imitators, about mistakes. Dream or Reality? Dream or Daydream? Dream or

Realities like calm water, allowing only ripples. Are you real? Is anyone? Are we dust and shadows? Real or fake? Real or fake? Real or

Thunder in the distance. Coming or leaving? Staying or running?

This is who I am.