A trunk of stories fill my comforters with tears
as I marvel over the letters I've never
sent to all the women I adored. I think of
you as wax drips off the candle of time. I
suppose you loved this scent.

Color Me Yellow
Bright,
bright,
yellow.

I grew up knowing
to never look at the sun,
to just trust it was there.

I was taught,
to never look forward,
if the light is yellow.
"Prepare to stop."

I don't see color anymore,
except red.
except when the pain in my eyes
almost reached a different pain on my thighs.

we're Bright
even when nobody can ever see it
nor direct or indirect
Nor behind or in front.
nor in front or above you,

hanging like the photos of
when I used to be happy.

Bright,
bright
Yellow.

As their practised shouts and screams can be heard
Her hair tickles my cheek, a laugh so bright
That even from across our boundless earth
Their screams melt away in place of her light

We seal our sweet love with one precious kiss  
But yet their hands will turn to fists of fear  
I try to ignore them through all this bliss
Her soft and whispered words all I can hear

Religion and prejudice tells us no  
Their fists of fear now turned to fists of red
They spit and sneer at us that we must go  
Their words banging their way into my head

To their forced love with him I say, no Sir  
Because, you see, my love belongs to her

blood of the covenant,
thicker than the water of the womb.
pale and paler birth want
of healthy contrast and muscles
decontracting and heartbeats
slowly slowing and freckles invent
a dance across her kiss across my lips.
she ties a celtic knot around my throat,
suffocating in a pretty way,
a pretty bruise for the pretty pale place.
if we use our naked limbs
to trace our lineage back thousands
of millions of years we find
a common ancestor or two.
i am not Adam or Eve and neither is she
able to break her tree branch bones
and fit herself into one of them,
to mold herself into the shape of a perfect
untainted human.
so we forget our roots,
we are flowers picked by
circumstance and hardship and
pale skin is not reflective. we let ourselves
recollect in
shaking breaths and ruffled hair and
ruffled feathers and loose vetements and
a whisper that tears the sheets and tapestries:
i love you.

my dear
you are not a girl
you are the constellation Andromeda
chained
you think you are alone
but believe me, my dear
you are surrounded by admirers on all sides
I am one
but I am so far
I can only admire you from grassy hills
in the middle of nowhere
where the city lights will not drown you out
but when I do
you are so lovely, my dear
the long drive
to see you
will always be worth it
you are truly breathtaking

I know a girl with eyes like oceans,
encircled by eyelashes like butterfly wings.
her hair is straight and thin and the color of sugar cookies.
she has the face of the moon.
when she speaks, her eyes widen and her voice shakes.
she makes my head spin.
but she doesn’t love me.

I know a girl with hair that is never one color.
it is short and frizzy but beautiful nonetheless.
her eyes are big and round,
and brown like coffee with too much milk.
she is ripped jeans and black shirts and drum sets.
her heart is rough but her hands are soft and small.
she makes my heart ache.
but she doesn’t love me.

I know a girl with skin like peaches in the summer,
and cream in the winter.
her hair is long and brown like chocolate.
she has a smile like the sun,
and a heart like the fire on its surface.
her eyes are rainy days,
but her lips are summer sunsets.
she makes my hands shake.
she tells me she loves me,
but I’m not sure if I believe her.

I have so much love in my heart.
all I need is someone to give it to.
but she doesn’t love me.

Aphrodite, goddess of love
twist your branches of willow around me
gust your warm winds against my numb skin
cover my tongue in the taste of strawberries and chocolate.

I want to sing the sound of you
I want to know the feeling of your lips on mine
I want to be loved.

I am all too familiar with unreciprocated love
it tastes bitter, like black coffee and raw sage
I long for a sweeter taste
I long for someone to numb the sting.

so come to me, my dear
there is no need to be afraid
I will make you a cup of galaxies
it will taste like hot chocolate with extra milk
together
we will connect the constellations at the bottom of your cup.

small bumps on the road,
the orange light from the street lamps glow
like a midnight sun and i fell in love
with the girl beside me,
sleepy and lovely
with a scar just above her left brow --
a childhood souvenir because
she could never stay still;
her hair free and wild
like her

and i'm flooring it while my seat belt is off
stupid and spirited, i know i will
give her name as the answer when
fifty years from now a child asks me
about my youth.

old man Bukowski said:
the flesh covers the bones
and they put a mind in there
and sometimes a soul;
i believe God
poured and poured
all the glorious things on her
and gave her a hand-made heart of gold

and maybe this isn't going to end
well, and well, all of this is forbidden
like the apple but still sweet
so never mind the toothache
or the possible heartbreak.

it shocks me to think that i let you touch me the way that you did,
your fingers dipped into my skin and an arm slung my neck.
you left an imprint that will never leave.
i have rubbed my skin pink and raw countless times but i am never truly clean.
who am i more disgusted with?
myself,
     for letting this happen?
          or you,
               for still having the nerve to get so close- hot breath prickling the back of my neck, sparking skin, inferno eyes- and tell me our game is done?

yes, the game i was never told we were playing... every tiny motion, every syllable, every touch… just a simple strategy to win.
i was unknowingly an opponent that you sought to knock down.
you never even let me know the rules.
now you flinch at the touch you once so lovingly leaned into.
(i use the word “lovingly” sarcastically, of course. you and i both know that, to you, there is no such thing as love. only winning or losing.)

so, you’ve emerged a victor. what’s your prize? tears that leave me hollow on the inside? midnight migraines while i long for a love that will never come?

does it fill you with satisfaction to watch the way i tremble when you come near?

you keep the trophies of every body you’ve invaded along the shelf of your room. i’m sure you run your finger over the plastic lip and think about the way her breath hitched and eyes fluttered shut when you did the same to her. she tastes like golden-plated achievements, doesn’t she?

but what you already have is not enough. you are constantly on the lookout for another medal, another souvenir from her heart.

you will make her laugh, deep from her stomach that causes her head to snap back. her chest will feel heavy when she looks at you.
(but it is not love.)
you will give her those half-lidded gazes and whisper in her ear and trace patterns into her side.
(but it is not love.)
you will get close- far too close.
(but it is not love.)
then you will sever that thin thread between you both.
     dip it in gasoline.
          set it on fire.
               add fuel to the flames with a few venomous words.

but you are not to blame.

it is never your fault, is it?
misunderstood,
that’s what you are.

acrylic fingertips
and regurgitated phrases.