"The problem is..."
he drawls
"that it is'nt us who see people differently from you,
but you see things different from us. We are not the problem you are.
You see the basest humans when we paint majestic creatures,
we tell stories of superheroes with no faults,
we expect our boyfriends to mirror night skies in their comfort,
and speak like Kerouac. Kiss our scars like white girl tumblr pictures."
"People like you," he says;
"...Dont ever **** yourselves. You're used to the disappointment. Your used to kissing your boyfriends sweaty upper lips and smelling...just that. You clean up the puke on bathroom floors without complaining because you know what people look like from the inside. That's why your art will never be good. Thats why today in class when I asked you to paint a human body cut open, you drew a colorless man with his organs splaying out of him, and *******" he laughs..
"I have to fold petals into my boyfriends armpits just to stand the sight of him
our ******* is'nt *******,
its *******. Supposedly.
When I tell this story later,
I'll leave out the spit and saliva and how the human body
aint that pretty, especially *******. Even 6 ft 3 chiseled muscle of it, ill write metaphors about his eyes and similes to his fists,
you will tell us about the humaness of his breath and how
it annoyingly kept you up at night,
you will speak of storms but not of the ones in his eyes.
The ones in your belly
when he farts during *** and you will
describe every putrid detail, like the fact that waking up in the morning aint so pretty,
morning breath is something we dreamers leave out in movies. And, it must be exhausting
living here seeing things how they really are, but atleast when you expect disappointment, theres room for surprise.
People like me expect the good and are disappointed when its ****** on."

My boot prints leave train tracks in the snow
Because I walk with a shuffle
My parts are incomplete; I find

walking uncomfortable

No one step feels the same
But right now it’s okay
Because between three feet of snow
A moon so perfectly halved
Under a sky naked of its stars
I feel
As if my shuffle
Is graceful
As if my walk;
Permanent
As if my steps
Are purposeful
Even if a little

Awkward

I am standing under a street light in three feet of snow
Not feeling cold
Or alone
Even though its cold
And I’m alone
My mind
It does not mumble
My speech
It does not stutter
My hands they do not shake here
I
Am permanent
I am whole here
My veins
They do not show here
They are not vulnerable in their color
Here
My heart
Doesn't skip a beat
My breath doesn't waver
here I do not hear
Ticking clocks in my head
I do not say clicking tots in my head
My speech is free of stutter
My mind as certain as these disappearing footprints
My walk, well
I still shuffle

I wrote you a poem
Titled it gravity
For your lack of it
And how that made me want you more
Called the scars in your eyes stability
Those were the only things that remained
I am looking for sand to set my anchor on
This is how i just keep sinking
But you
You were fluidity in motion you were the
Once a week reminder that
Typhoons hit and people change
When my moods were changing tides
On the days my speech was so rapid and my eyes so clear it made everyone want me
Atleast thats how it appeared to me
But for the days when my arms drag me out to sea and you have a hand over these fists begging me to let go of these ******* bricks as you kick
Afraid ill drown us both
And i would
If it werent for the flight in your smle keeping us up
Afloat
I pray you dont drop me for the wight of us both can be too much for you to carry

"Dance for me my puppet."
And so I danced for her.
"Bind yourself to me my dear"
And so I bound myself to her.
"Listen to me and no one else."
And so I listened to only her.
"Starve yourself for me my precious."
And so killed myself for her.

Her skin is pale
A wash of gentle light
Her hair silver
Glittering with starlight
The girl born of moon and star

Her eyes piercing blue
As the blanket of sky
Her face upturned
All the relaxed beauty of night
The girl shimmering with light and dust

The moonlight drapes over her
Clothing her in shimmering silver light
She dances with glittering grace
As the the dust of stars trails behind
The moonlight girl born for night

When god created this creature
He used his most precious gifts
Glittering stars, shimmering moonlight
And all the dreams of a sleeping world
Bring forth the daughter of night

Nyx herself would envy this girl
God saw the hearts of men break
Just her sight shattered them
Sympathy moved the mighty God
The silvery girl of the stars

God talked to his daughter of night
She agreed to leave this world
Some nights tinkling laughter echoes
From the distant world in the sky
The world of Moonlight Girl.

The law said her body was made for love
The kind of love that wants to show you
just how much it loves you
by sticking things inside of you

hard
fast

Then slower

The kind of love that wanted to make the bible blush
make you quiver; the
kind of love when you put a female and male hamster together.
The kind of love that wanted to make music out of your ******

Love said "This is what happens
when you use
Needles to ingrain the words love
on peoples skin"

It feels a lot like pain did

Like when the first boy you ever loved
said I love you back
And proved it because he held you after
sticking sticky things inside of you
Like how he said hed wait untill you were ready
then said "You're gonna make me wait forever.."

How that guy on the third date said
"Come back to my apartament
So I can put what I want into you
Until you are empty
Because we might call it love"

Until you met a boy
who untaught what the word love meant
never asked you when you wanted to have ***
whose hands never roamed as greedily
searching for places to settle on your body
who didnt wish to make a home out of you by filling you senseless
and calling it his furniture
art
who traced outlines of constellations on the palms of your hands
and played
"Guess the Nebula"

Whose hardness never prodded you in the back
like a protest
in the early morning
whose breath always came easy
never hard
or fast

It was just holding you with no intention to
*******

He said
"Love isnt what you put inside a person
In hopes of making it stick;and naming it after something beautiful
I can pin my thoughts on you but
you are not my canvas. That wouldnt be fair.
I respect your property."

There was nothing broken when he left.

Men who look like ferris wheels
every color representing different aspects of their personality

The first three words don't have to be beautiful
they just have to make sense
like connecting dots on paper

men who love with their fists
and hate with their mouths
who once were boys taking things apart
like remote controls their own fathers used to beat     Obedience into their small bodies.  Left them with a fury tattooed across their hearts
Just to give them the challenge of putting themselves back together

They buy their wive's flowers after
a four day bruise isn't so glaringly purple anymore
not so accusing-
kiss her broken ribs
and tell their children midnight stories

children trained as mood detectors
human robots
know when to shutup
speak when you are spoken to*

Men who speak like cutting boards
Every slice of the knives in their toungues leave
hollow aching missing parts
just to teach their children that not all
things can be put together once taken apart

whose daughter glues together the parts of old telephones
to spite the missing pieces
so every welt he beats into her bones
she sings herself unbroken
until she stands robust and imperfect
there are holes in her armour
but she holds it together

with her fathers fists.