It took a few years to find ourselves.
In that time, my hair grew out,
and your height grew tall.
We grew like sunflowers.

All the other girls wanted crowns,
along with a Prince Charming,
while I took up fencing, and learned
how to shoot a basketball properly.

You learned the arts, how to
play sharp staccatos and paint pastel skies,
while the boys your age were
breaking windows with baseballs.

Your performances stunned the crowds.
Your fingers moved mountains.
You came to my competitions.
My saber moved faster than light.

From a distance, was how we grew.
We were the sky and the sea,
watching each other from a distance.
So close, yet so far apart.

The first time we met
was when we were six.
Your knees were pale and smooth.
Mine were littered with scars.

The first time we met,
They waited for the sky to fall.
They waited for days, until
they realized the sky was not falling.

Life went on.
We grew side by side.
The sky had yet to crash
into the sea.

They waited—
months flew by—
the prophecies cannot be wrong!
they said, shocked.

I told them that prophecies were just fairytales.
I was six, and I didn't believe in fairytales.
I told them they were wrong.
I was too confident.

There are bruises on my knees
and blood dripping from my chin.
A bandage is stuck
on my cheek, beside my grin.

I have seen only a few summers,
yet I am already addicted.
The darkness retreats
to the corner of my soul.

The shadows kept me captive,
but the sunlight broke the bonds.
That moment, I knew, I was never
and will never be a caged bird.

We began as specks,
particles of dusk,
seen in a foreign place
from centuries away.

The prophecies had foreseen it.  
The oracle had spoken—
a collision so small in size,
yet so great in power

would tear the sky off its hinges
and send it crashing
through the mountains,
burying to the bottom of sea.

You were a bundle of white,
born on a boat on a summer day
as the clouds shimmered in tranquility,
and the sky reflected the sea.

I was born ****** and destitute,
with shadows so obsidian,
they claimed my soul and
set the sky on fire.

Two opposing forces like
you and me
had always been destined
for disaster.

paint—

on my brushes
my jeans
your shirts

on my arms
my fingers
your cheeks—

i'll be working
part-time
at the gallery, and

sweat—

on your neck
your shirt
my hoodie

on your skin
your jaw
my lips—

you'd be looking
at offers
to go pro.

i'll sell my paintings
but checks will only get me
oh so far, so

my wallet would be nearly
empty of dollar bills,
but with you,

my heart would be nearly
full of sunshine,
as long as i'm with you.

hell, i'll buy the
sunshine for you
if i could. and

i'll paint it on the canvas
(acrylic paint, mind you)
and i'll have it hung

up for display,
for you, for the world,
for everyone to see.

i'll come to your DI
games and
cheer for you,

would you come to the
gallery openings
and support me, too?

make art,
make love,
i guess.