my thighs are burning hot,
these skinny jeans feel like snowpants,

hands shaking ,
putting on a necklace,
can't stop dropping the clasp,
clasping onto breath.

cough gagging.

smelly feet.

electricity in my knees.

the creaking is so loud.

how do you do this?
who bestowed this magic
into your strong delicate hands?

falling into a bat of acid,
born another planet,
pulled the sword from the stone,

where does this power come from?
in a soft smile paired with linen eyes,
iridescent beams through my chest,

pulling on my tongue ,
you find my kryptonite,
and I was never a DC girl myself...

but maybe you are a beautiful mirror,
you reflect the powers of your opponent.
physically rather
than
spiritually

maybe the way you make me feel,
is more a reflection of my power,
exerted into a physicality.

weaves my veins into my bones,
blows up my diaphragm ,
hives on my neck..

the true power is within me, though.

this much love,
coming from a little freckled white girl,
is my greatest weapon.

for you will never feel as deeply as i have.

you will never laugh like i do,
but you will never hurt the same.

what a price to be passionate.

but more importantly.

what a power.