I've grown to love
the sound of my name

swaddled in the contour
of my cupid's bow;

rolling off the tides
of my tongue;

humming
like earthquakes
in my vocal cords

my name--

Jade,
after the precious gemstone.

~

A girl named Jade
beckons the moon
so that it sits
between her palms
brings it closer to earth
through her camera lens,

photographing celestial portraits,
each crater immaculately reproduced.

She grows bouquets
of bluebells in her lungs,
poetic eidos
ringing
from her mouth,

fingers pulsing
against the typewriter
like the oscillation
of a butterfly's wings.

The soft hiss of verse
dissolves on the reader's taste buds,

each stanza an exhalation of
profundity--

unforgettable.

Maybe you were the one
to walk away
but
there will always be
a part of you
that mourns.

Her name etched
onto the surface of your ribs
like they are tombstones

(and they are tombstones).

You lie in wait to be
haunted

(because that's the only way
you'll ever see her again.)


A girl named Jade--

ferociously loyal

but she also declares
her own worth,
recognizing those who will only
abbreviate it.

She is a melodic composition
of sunflower petals and stardust--

but that does not make her fragile;

for her bones
are cast with iron;

mind the crown of
Athenian wisdom;

heart a pounding sea

where water lilies float
and leaches drown;

And of her soul?

A girl named Jade
wears her soul
in an aurora borealis
of purple light

(just as she was always meant to).