Today someone asked
‘Did she love you’.
Because my love for her was stolen
A brush of hands, of fingers tangled together but always in the dark
A press of lips to her collarbones, her cheeks, her neck but never her lips
It was bruised shoulders and bruised egos,
Lost declarations and lost promises.
It was the words I whispered in her ear while my hands danced across her ribs
Or the words requested in the deep of the night when sleep was to far and nightmares not far enough.
It was second glances and curious friends
And stretches of silence and hushed arguments in the vacant corners of rooms.
She stole my “I love you"s and stitched them into her skin like armor.
And then she wore her armor to kiss other girls in the dark and to press promises into their skin,
To hold them the way I held her,
To love them the way I thought I’d loved her.
I thought I could protect myself from the pain,
But when I looked, I’d found that I’d given all my armor away.
Today someone asked
‘Did she love you’

Kissing girls is for white girls
with slim hips and delicate features
whose reputation cannot be varnished
by a few quick pecks in the dark.

She said: loving women is for white girls
because they all grow out of it
except the foolish ones with troubled families
and fathers that never stuck around.

But my skin was too dark
and my family image too well crafted
to justify wanting to mess around
with girls that would leave me for future husbands.

Ocean Girl, take me to the beach
Let's get away and feel the sway
Of the breeze, Ocean Girl,
Please show me the world

she is the sunset
leading on towards golden twilight
bonfires and fireflies
on a hot summer night

she is spring violets
gentle and kind
blooming, healing, helping
letting me clear my mind

she is the autumn leaves
never dreary or dull
leaving me excited
even for winter's sleepy lull

she is the first snow
a wordless glance
a warm hug
a hopeful chance

she fell in love that night
8:12 PM, March 4th 2017
with a latin woman
her curves illuminating
in the ultraviolet lights
of her bedroom

she tasted paradise,
fingers tracing the outline
of her *******
their bodies interlocked in the heat between them
whisperings of 'i love you'
was all each of them could promise that night of
March 4th 2017

SUN GIRLS: sun-kissed goddesses, some a little darker than others because the sun loves them just a little bit more, writes poetry sitting outside a local coffee shop, always happy all the time, loves the color yellow, wears mom jeans and tucked in t-shirts all the time, is soft and loves love, long hair, mostly in braids or ponytails.

MOON GIRLS: dark circles under their eyes, parties a lot, drinks to forget their heartbreak, red lipstick and black eyeshadow, sleepless nights accompanied by anxiety, owns over 20 different leather jackets, loves adrenaline, risk-taker, a smoker, strong smell of cigarettes and mint gum, smirks a lot, flirty, secretly likes sun girls

we started talking at 14 and 15
texting back and forth
exploring our feelings for each
other staying up late nights on
the phone getting to know each other

we fell in love at 16 and 17
still exploring that side of each other,
the one that liked girls
you were unsure but
you knew you had feelings for me
i liked you more than anything

we grew apart at 17 and 18
not talking as much
barely speaking to one another
you had a boyfriend at the time
and I still had feelings for you

we reconnected at 18 and 19
rekindled our feelings for one another
because deep down we both knew
we’ll always have feelings for each other
we even made a pact that
if we’re both single in 5 years
that we’d be together
and im hoping that becomes reality

Alone is a trench you dig by yourself.
Love is a garden that I dug with you.

We shower each other in compliments,
like rose petals that bloomed
so recently, so beautifully,
we just had to pick them.
We couldn't help it,
we admired them so.

Alone is a blue sky without a cloud in sight,
[and it misses them so.]
Love is the lightning and the rain in a thunderstorm.

They too, complement each other,
one conducting the other
in a symphony, full of gorgeous crashes,

one can't help but
be awed,
be inspired,

be in love,
with what we've become.