hallways,
fluorescent lights
the faint scent
of
latex gloves and
sheer nightgowns.
you stand there,
slowly breathing
in rhythm with
the ticking
clock.
he holds your hand,
the very touch
the transfer of
warmth
between your fingers.
you feel,
somewhat relieved
like if this were meant
to
simply
happen
you were glad
he was there.

didn't you always want this?
to be swaddled with
twinkling toes
and miniature socks?
was it not you
who felt the movement
and prayed for the unexpected?

the results aren't
even the hardest
part.
it is the waiting,
the absorbing
the acceptance
the denial,
it is the
in-between
yet also
the after.

as the blood
swims through
the plastic tube,
the liquified
decision
right there
in crimson red,
waiting to tell,
wanting to whisper
"your life may change,"
you look through
memories,
moments,
like catalogs
in magazines.

what happens next?
no one knows,
except the specimen
painted
masqueraded
in crimson red.

there are three
things,
concepts,
in this changing world
that make life
interesting:
roses,
thorns
everything in between.

roses,
the texture
against painted
hands.
blurry vision
seeing nothing
but the sweet
alluring smell
of a simple rose.
life is good,
for the most part
everything else
anything else
fades into the blur
of naivety.

thorns,
the nature
of which they *****
pick,
control your mind
in the way it was seen.
you finger is touched,
the skin breaks
you bleed,
not in the normal sense
there's no red
no liquid
no pain,
not until you begin
to bleed again.
life, is messy
it's unpredictable
it's still beauty
yet not the kind
you want to stop
and stare.

and then,
knowing this,
taking this in
breathing it in
how do you handle
the "in-between?"

in the same way
that birds travel south
abandoning reason,
intuition,
where it's warm
you choose to escape.

you wait til the air is crisp
enough to cut
tension,
you wait until the moments
are still
and you sink into the crowd
your shadow blends
with the colors of night.

in one swift breath
your troubles are gone
for the moment
anyways
and you seem to forget
those,
simple things
that could snap
reality back in its place.

what about me?
am I not enough
to take your personal
pains,
your burdens
and give you a place
no,
a moment of peace?
does it not take but a moment
to simply breathe,
the air in your lungs
passing through you
in such a way
that you don't feel
threatened
anxious
to simply breathe?

from the moment,
such bright brown eyes
opened to view the world,
illness
acted as a close
companion.

she spent her days
in bright colored beds,
on tissue papered
chairs and attached
to medications,
respirators,
inhalers
icky cough syrup
and smeared
substances
with traces of
mint.

every school year,
it was a contest,
a game she often played
how many times
could she stay away?

when would the sickness
be the fool
and not the ruler?
when could she call the shots
instead of taking injections
to fight its virulent grip?

even as she grew older,
her skin grew colder,
the very blood in her veins
rejected her so,
in such a way
that summers were glacial
and her winters were
unbearable.
it felt as though death were a witness
constantly knocking at her door.

the pleasures of hunger,
were only a reminder
that food was a mere match
to the flames of discomfort.
how she slept at night,
knowing her loved ones
constant in a state of fright
that she may not wake up
one day from her slumber,
is one of the questions
with no apparent answer.

a bottle to aid in sleep,
a pill to survive the day,
a cup of tea to last the night
and tears wiped away,
how the little girl inside
wished to be in good health,
instead of sitting here,
curled up against the comfort of plush
pouring words into paper,
hoping for a way out of herself.

slower.
slower.
you're going too fast.
clash into me,
crash upon my lips.
go slow.
go steady
like the tortoise
I cannot bear
the speed,
the feeling
fleeting,
running like the pesky hare.

look at me.
lose yourself in my glance.
tease me.
play me like violin
strings.
use your bow,
make me bow,
don't surrender
without a fight.

let me feel the tension,
thickening through you
like clogged arteries.
stop my heart,
make me want to spill
my secrets
fears
darkest desires
in the light of moon.

Give me what I want…
in tiny,
bite-sized
increments.
Make my heart race.
Let its pulse
pound
catching my breath
as the sheets
catch your beads
of sweat.
Let me submit
to
your every desire.
slowly,
ever so slowly...
fulfill mine.

My hands,
should they tremble.
should I resist
your flame against
mine,
make it
a
sin.
Let your touch turn
my spine
into chilled bones and tremors.

give me a reason
to leave
reasoning
behind.
let your soul
pressed
in the heat of mine
be that of dancers.

let our rhythm and music
be the tempo of movement.
make symphonies
of cacophonous
sounds,
cries,
ones I can
no longer hold.

slow.
slower.
let me feel all
that the groove
can offer.
let your
forbidden
lips
open
the gates
to no return.

let my secret be
that I feel this way.
that my lips
remained sealed,
my soul silenced
and the flame in
a glass jar,
burning bright.
waiting,
shaking
flickering
for the glass to break.

break the glass
take me.
have me.
walk through
the rose petaled
garden.
dance
with
me,
fellow dancer.

I will not
disclose the secret
plain,
exposed
like the
words
you once
wrote.
I cannot
bare,
the
embarrassment
of giving you
such satisfaction
that I,
of all people
fall weak
to your alluring
scent.
to your
damning
eyes
and skin
so soft
I'd mark
with official
stamp.

no,
too easy.
far too easy
to keep my pride.
I will endure
the flames
screaming
begging
to be released.

the way
you move.
act innocent,
breathe.
it stirs me,
moves me to
abandon
reason
like some sort
of
insatiable
angel.

it's sickening,
I can barely
stand it.
I must,
even for a moment,
distract myself.
just to avoid.

do you ever notice,
that in the heat of summer
when the grass is still
and the crickets
sing their
distinct
songs
everything seems eerie?

in a closed room,
behind the white door
where lovers dare
to dream,
there's always
doom lurking
crawling,
waiting to seep
into their skin?

when she looks
lost,
hypnotized
into his
wanderlust
of eyes
she can't help
but wonder,
fear the unknown
that would await
the next day?

how can moments
of growing old,
four bedrooms,
the master suite
two lamps
lit in unison,
a glass of
wine,
silk sheets
turn
into the
darkness
that follows
when those lamps
no longer burn
bright?

when the moon grows full,
and the rhythms of the night
become still,
I drift into a state of awareness.
my subconscious,
its twists and turns
are of no surprise to me anymore.

i think of my father,
his expression
monotonous,
displeased,
lost all hope
in his beloved
creation.
it beats into
my heart
like crushed
glass against the rocks.

I see my mom,
holding hands
with her husband,
soft,
exhausted
not from a day's work
but from the tears
burning down her eyes.
it is a pain
I inflicted,
one I can never take back.

my regret
is not the
action,
but the execution.

even when given the final
opportunity,
the ultimate chance
to spill my heart
along the wooden
kitchen table,
I constantly
sopped up the mess
with silence.

my resentment
is not the response,
but the recurring
reactions.

believe in me,
dear parents,
cast your eyes
in shame and regret,
but not wavering
in hope and respect.

the same little girl,
in tiny black shoes,
in ribbons and drowning
in stuffed animals,
with an appetite
so finicky
and a pursuit
for the betterment
infinitely growing...
is the same girl that
stood before you
that summer day.

my bitterness
is not towards
your opinion,
but rather your
assumed reasoning.

I did not choose love,
one greater than the other
one more willing to
sacrifice.
I did not choose sides,
father
pitted against
lover.
this is not a 16th
century love story
where I renowned
my name
for the attention
of a Montague.

my demise
will cease to end
here.
it is bound to exist in
constellations,
where dreams are stored.