if rouge and tallow could tell secrets
if i could divine anything
from the iron oxide and wax that stains the sink basin
what would i learn?
if i could trace this pigment
back to your eyes
would i see it stream down your flushed cheeks
before you so viciously scrubbed it off last night?
would i see saltwater rivers
breaking through a coal-black dam
an ever-fragile monument crumbling for a boy
who will only ever offer his love to girls
no matter how you doll yourself up
no matter how lovely you may feel
in that billowing skirt that fits so nicely
over your soft and rolling stomach

my friend, your tears were not meant for the likes of him
your hands were not meant for the hands of that kind of boy
the boy that you are looking for
will not leave you weeping over the bathroom counter
shoulders trembling even as you feel silly for weeping at all
hands to your mouth to stifle the sounds of your despair
and your heartbreak
as if i would admonish you for feeling.

there will come a day when i will never again
have to wonder what was the name of the boy
that caused such tremendous turmoil in the pit of your chest

there will come a day when i will never again
see the remnants of such a miserable flood
staining the sink basin, breaking through the dam

there will come a day when i will never again
have to wish for your happiness
because i saw your tired, lonely eyes and the sleep you lost

when you find the boy meant for your heart
the only stains he will cause will be to his own honeyed mouth
as he pulls away from your painted lips
to press his forehead to yours
and whisper such adoring endearments
as to make you forget that there was ever a time
before Him & You.