I've finished your portrait;


You

are a glass of water

upon the windowsill, distorting

my view of the tired street below —


Refreshing, but,

it's the same view

really.



I need a new window.

If this wall could talk
If those eyes could see
If those tears could fall
would they fall for me?

If this face could smile
If those lips could part
If those cheeks could blush
would they claim my heart?

pressed strawberries into my skin
to have a permanent bite of a younger me
who plucked sweetness from vines under coastal suns
and wore freckles far from faded —
still hot from the burn that drew them

poked asymmetry into my face
dressed it in tiny, shiny silver spheres
like ornaments on a christmas tree mid-january
a sharp contrast to the dying pine that no ones thrown out yet
that no longer carries the same cheery scent

painted orange through these tangled locks
to revive a youth with shortcake hair and not a single qualm
before it all faded to ***** blonde
the cheap dye smelled like nostalgia:
grape otter pops at waterparks in summers

put on colors with turned up saturation
a palette like that one july — before he drained the flush in my cheeks
and made rainbows look like oz before technicolor
all grayscale and dull when i was promised magic
and music and marvel and memories — the good kind

peered at the lightning bolts on my hips and thighs
that i know i should appreciate — how they’re a symbol for growth
how they’re like little paths that lead to a better me
but i can’t help but hate the way they remind me of earthquake aftermath
no one likes to think about that or see that

played around with pretty eyes
needed something to cover what’s broken behind mine
but he couldn't find any value
in trading his clear blue ponds for these sunken
deep polluted seas

so i

pulled what little i had left in me
and put it on my callous skin
salvaged an old scrapbook full of visions
and said i’d turn them into deja vu
a shapeshifter that shook those who followed along

rewriting everything that was wrong

I want to fall in love with his bad days
His insecurities
Become a best friend to his loneliness, his fears
A partner to his loathing

I want to love him for all he thinks he isn't
So I can prove him wrong and kiss away his hate

I want to fall in love with his tears
His messy hair in the mornings
His grogginess before his cup of coffee
His clumsy and nervous stutters

Everything about him, I want to find myself fawning over
I want to give him my all and love his everything
Because love doesn't pick and choose
It consumes all or it leaves with nothing

If I only choose to love his shimmer in the sunlight
Or his childish smiles and giggles
Then it would be as if I loved a portrait
Our love would only tarnish and fade with time

I will love everything or I will not love at all

The more I observed the photograph
more soul acquired.

Suddenly it seemed to expel air
directly from her lungs:
transpire,
think,
be sad and then
disguise it.

Suddenly she seemed to want to say something,
to take a look at the light — Careful, careful — with a stare.

Lips loose,
defined,
wanting to form a smile that never comes.

Sparkling eyes that pierce the atoms.

Calmed eyes from the ocean.

Eyes of moon and sun that observes everything.

A silence of complicity was present
in the atmosphere of the room.

And she, who knew her as myself,
suddenly it was not just a photograph.

Every stroke of her face
forced me to return more strongly
to that moment
in which I caught the life.

I always
Talk too much.
Laugh too much.
Feel too much.
Hurt too much.

Everyone who met her always
Portrait her image as a
Sturdy one in their heart. But,
In real everyday she is trying
Hard to fix the pieces of
Her broken soul in one.