tell me honey, do I fuel your mind?
so many thoughts are stacking inside of mine, though I'm
frequently running low on words to describe
the manner in which my heart so heavily thrives
as I trace your porcelain skin
with the tips of my fingers, my eyes  
one
two
stray freckles kiss mine

Dust smudges my glasses
and your freckles burn my skin.
Through panes of glass the colours swirl,
bright hue of your skin,
deep brown of your eyes,
all things you own and I may never possess.
Differences in feel of fit and flesh,
knuckles on bone,
knuckles on lips,
lips on lips,
lips apart, breathing in the dirt.
Dirt in lungs,
in ribs,
in flesh,
in agony as the sun burns on.
But the dust smudges my glasses
and I cannot see.
You freckles, spots of ash, burn holes into my heart.

they were all in love with the cartoon eyes and crooked teeth and ginger hair and backwards ball caps
because every time she smiled
they became warmer and warmer until they'd melt, as if the sun was being reborn inside of them.

-*z. vega

If I could go into my mind
Walk around
It would look like
A cute little bookshop
Old and rustic
Books overflowing on shelves
All containing the knowledge my mind holds
A few cobwebs
In high up places
Overstuffed chairs
Made for comfort
When I need it
I imagine an older lady
In charge of the store
Wise for my age
The thoughts of
An 80 year old
In a 14 year old's body
When I was younger
It was probably like the children's section
Pictures filled my mind
Giving me the imagination
To keep my innocence
For as long as I did
My mom would say
That a 36 year old
Ran the shop then
And I, the 7 year old
Was a common costumer

I wish I could
Just live in my mind
And not have to interact
With the outside world

Sometimes I like to think
The boys that I get infatuated with
Will visit my little bookstore
And search the shelves
While I hide in an overstuffed chair
And admire them from the distance

I could go on forever
With this metaphor
Of my mind
So I won’t

While those who read this
Get a quick glimpse
Into my bookshop
And if they look hard enough
They can see the dark haired girl
With a smattering of freckles
Sunk into a chair
With a book in hand
And a pen in the other
As she expands her knowledge
She finishes a book
And adds it to the shelf
Another day
Another adventure

Atop oil stained concrete
A fast food employee
Wears a headset
Takes out the trash

And god is an eloquent *****
She paints freckles on his face
A cigarette in his hand

sometimes people tell me that
my cheeks get red and bumpy after
my tears have dropped down them.
And sometimes it looks like the sun has kissed me in my eyes and
overpowered the darkness behind.
And sometimes it leaves freckles on my cheeks and I like them.
so I cry a little longer.
holding on to the beauty behind the salty streams and
the external effect to the internal intent of these sun tears that
freckle my cheeks.

Sun on my bare neck.
The crunch of grass under toes.
Cheeks ache for freckles.