Would it be better
if I hid everything
underneath a metaphor or simile?
Like thick suffocating blankets
that muffle my true meaning and stamp out light,
leaving you clutching at wisps
untangling what I'm trying to say?
Would it be best if I told you the truth
and said that you use your hair effectively
as a weapon?
A cluster of ever-changing colored swirls
where I can spiral into my own personal
are millions and millions
soft, passive, dangerous.
I've never wanted to be cradled more.
Do you want me to promise
that I still think about the cataclysmic
infinity of your emerald eyes?
A Garden of Eden.
If I believed in ***,
I'd say Adam and Eve took comfort
within them. And just like Adam and Eve,
realize what it feels like to be cast out.
When love became punishment.
When rules were broken.
When there was nothing left to feel
but loneliness and shame.