intro;
i wish i could portray my sadness ,
with my body,
place my thighs right up against my stomach and i would rest my chin upon my knees
cross my arms around the package of broken girl like me
crinkled like a paper draft of a fevered love letter rejected
if I could portray my sadness,
would it look more like a heart attack then asphyxiation,
or the marriage of both,
convulsing body parts and flawed flesh exposed, while my face contorts,
i wish i could explain myself, use a melon baller to my emotions, to create concrete of the emotions unseen,
if i could explain the process or display the make up,
would it make it any less real? would you feel it too?
head hurts. heart hurts.
sometimes i wish i could draw it out, map out the mind field of my mind,
and maybe we could see the trigger...
and i cant help but think that
if my love was taken over by crayola,
all you would see would be dark colors,
heartbreak crimson divorced of the black stain of sin,
drops of b positive,
with rotten purple grapes with juices dripping,
staining, marking.
and there would be the dark blue of bruises and the harsh green of vegetation in winter.