the full moon sprinkles it's pale light in
i try to breathe deep
but
i feel like there are splinters in my lungs and
shards in my heart.
just
come inside
and take them out.

my body has been tainted by a boy
with scruffy sideburns
bleached hair and toffee eyes.
i found his brokenness
intriguing
flattering
mysterious.
his skin was like a newport on a nipped february morning
his hair like a wool knitted sweater
he tasted like apricots drenched in wine.
he kissed me like he loved me
he licked me like he missed me
he held me like he'd never let me go.
he rode his bike everywhere,
his heart was cold as snow.

in films
love seems inevitable
intimacy seems comfortable
*** seems sensual.
somehow, the writer of my play has changed the rules
love seems impossible
intimacy seems uncomfortable and
*** seems like a mans one and only goal.

i would have stood on rooftops
and bell towers
and light houses
singing your praises;
i believed in us.
i believed i could mend your brokenness;
And with the gift of my
pure
body,
you would be healed.
you disgusted me
you disguised yourself in sheep's wool and made yourself look lovable and malleable and open
but i am allergic to wool and your façade
left me
cold and
violated
and alone.
i believed i loved you
and you loved me
but we see so clearly now,
a wolf in sheep's clothing cannot find love
with a swan.

We had an energetic exchange
and his energy has intertwined with my own
and his children have sunken into my skin
and his lips are imprinted on my own.
I feel as if I have to discard myself in order to discard him
from me.
We made art with our bodies
and I can't tell you how artistic it was that he curves gently to the left
and his hands felt as if they were made only to grab my throat.
I loved every inch of his body
and I have it memorized so well
I could sketch it out.
He was art to me.
In every kiss was a song;
in every goodbye, a melancholy tear.
At night, I can remember the way his chaliced hands traced my figure
and how comforted I felt when his muscular arms hugged my limbs.
I can still taste him
and it's a taste that even Burnett's can rid me of.
He was mine;
every piece and square centimeter had my name on it,
but just as quickly as we fell in love,
my name was wiped clean by
someone
else.

It has been twelve weeks since ive laid my eyes on your lovely face
You have ceased to exist for only 8 of them
My eyes are tired now and they roam no farther than sheets I shield my body in.
Twelve weeks yet, I have aged 12 years.
I am not free,
I am trapped within the prison I call me
Twelve weeks and I miss your accent stained lips, your silver shining hair.
In twelve more weeks, I still will not care about the petty everyday dramas;
For no one's heart can be as weary as mine.

He possesses my body.
My thighs crave his hands
and my fingers long for his ***** hair.
He is not good to me.
He penetrates dozens of other females.
He ***** them, but we make love.
My body has shaped itself so he fits perfectly inside.
His DNA lingers on my skin and I can still taste him on my tongue.
I don't think I love him but
It sure does feel like love oh my
it sure does feel like love.
Traces of our kids have sunken into my skin.
Mommy loves you.
Toffee eyes capture the attention of my midnight, tear drenched ones.
How can he experience this with others?
How can he stroke and kiss and *** with them,
when they are not me?
I am special;
I am loved by him
and he
is loved
by me.