despite popular belief
your hands do not bend the light of the sun
your lips do not pour truth and sugar
and there are scissors in your gaze

sitting next to your decisions
i let them hold my hands
and hold my mouth on your command
six pounds of fine print
six pounds of guile
you only love me when im silent

i am not stupid
i am not a fire prince
nor will i live to earn something that you refuse to give
however there are other factors, always,
like survival

kaleidoscope collage
your cuts are carefully connected
fingers of precision and denial
this was your causing and creation
and yet your language is laced with words as if you would be hurt by my exile

perhaps it will come that you understand love
but as it stands you believe it is hunger
to love is to know to demand and control
i pity your vision of family

a sliding scale of humanity
what gives you the idea it is a choice
what makes you think there is a weight difference in voice
like you have the right to someones needs
and reserving them for trials
performance should not be required
for simple decency

and yet here we stand
in front of the pyramids
like women perhaps
but no human for miles and miles

debatable humanity
does he deserve to be known
should he be granted sunlight
and is existence your choice
or is it just because you decided

he should have to grovel for a crumb
have him on his knees
but hes not allowed to ask nor to speak
he must not make his breathing heard
but out of earshot out of thoughts
unburdened fingers in your pockets

which is worse

isnt that convenient

ive heard you turn and your lips say you love him
but hands murmur other words
or is it more a scream
from the lungs he has known
words mean nothing
(tell that to the ropes at his wrists)
but if you are not aware
that there is more to this
he will remain yet hopeless

a hesitant pencil
but will tell her will tell him will tell her
and i will be the one who is argued
i will be the target of decision
but i am not a choice
existence forever questioned perpetually advised with viewer discretion
and i will have no voice
will, no, dont, and never had
headed plattered dead
what is desired, is that right?
and tell me its my fault
it is not my place
but i am still human
even if you dont agree
and this is not debatable
despite what you prefer to see

breathing music into water
fingers pinched around a wine glass stem
a phone screen in a locked room
avoiding dinner table gazes
why do you want that

extra hours for today
but never quite enough to escape
why does he feel like that

the only thing inside
the only thing i will deny
to suppress is to nourish in a twisted kind of way
to reach and to hold
there are no longer lungs within my ribs
[]
im sorry
i shouldnt say that
please forgive me when i say i still need to forget you

paper in my hands
remember why the residue taunts at the front edge
its funny now, after all that, theyre the same too

dark mode no prose, subject to monarchy
low dose closed eyes the way im not supposed to
why did you ask to see that

the sound of crust from bread
the empty bowl in front of me
the way i call the animal
im thinking of white stitching
why did you choose to watch that

here, now
how many times have those images slept within your eyes
and could it ever be said
the way it has rooted in my mind
i secretly hope and i desperately dont
and im sorry but why did you suggest that or do you even know

keyboards covering miles -
turbulent plights of backhanded fights, it isnt arguing if its explanation
i suppose for those whove known no difference in abrasive ways for twenty years of unchecked distance kissing specious missing patience, it is true or at the very least adjacent
drag the corpse if not complacent
heinous words are not creative
and lately all the heart i have has drained away to become tasteless

blue rocks blue skies
blue water blue ties
unexpressable thoughts
unconveyable eyes
dry teeth from careful smiles
expired, denied, relying on time
blue hearts blue guilt yellow lies

a budding desire to leave
an afterthought of tears sprouting in the fields
unreasonable hopes and unobtainable dreams
a small amount of lines on a screen - its hard to digest wheels and wings, but harder yet to stomach the prospect of being, of lying sleepless breathing
back pain creeping, repetition steeping, the only thing persisting keeping cling to aching missing fleeing
argumentative sitting
conversations of speculative dissonance, proliferated distance, insisting dismissive
artistically passive tragic and diminished
there is minimal drive, suffocated motivation with nothing particularly persuasive, save for invasive ideas of loving ways and pay that plays a part in paving optimistic savings for an all too distant day