Leave me here,
like you want me bad enough
You still don’t know the way I work
which way it tilts and how to hit it
you try to hit it—
And put me on my own,
as if this is about me
the only way to come is
if it’s anything besides me
Maybe it’s your desire
an instinct or an experiment
conversion or love filled sentiment
alas the lore finds me in the dark
no girl
a self hating pool of warmth.

In her eyes,
a universe unfolds,
Where whispered
dreams and truths untold.
But barriers rise,
a fortress tall,
Against the tide,
I yearn to fall.

Your dress was plum;
although, my fantasies remember Maroon.
Dancing in God’s house, you moved like scripta,
and I burned like the sinner’s hands.
Had you blushed near me again, I was going
to hold it against myself.

Thrice removed
(grief-stricken) and held against him,
I am empty of you.

But not yet extinguished from your singe of interest,
of your reading me like The Price of Salt.
Wondering, suppose I call, if your
arrival would be the difference of a few vowels.
Divine intervention, master of my curiosity,
I spend my evenings drunk on forbidden fruits.

Pardon my chaos talking in triangles–
of lust’s longing in color–
our tortured poet already said it best.

I can't think straight because I'm not.
I love one girl who is so hot!
And in this poem I want to show
How hetero people are ruining it all...

To think straight means... To hate!
To think you'll burn in the hell if you were born gay;
But beating their child is completely okay.
To think that clothes really matters;
If you're a girl then must wear dresses.
To think that colors have gender;
But boys used to wear pink, remember?
To think when a woman has body hair then she's so ugly!
But when a man has the same then he's very lovely!
To think they're normal and others are not;
In fact only they are stupid a lot!
Arguments against same s3x marriages they try to introduce;
But forget that straight couples are full of abuse.

Our world would be so much better
If you shut up your mouth, dear hetero...

A fainting pink, the color I have to resist
To stare at as we pass by the textured walls of our hallways

There isn't much he knows about her,
Except for the bottles of strawberry flavored wax
She takes and uses up within months

I dream of what it tastes like.

Not the strawberry scent she lingers on every one of his clothes
But the lips she has to polish every single hour,
Applying and reapplying
Again and again

On my bed, I hold that scent close,
That stain of wax that missed her skin,
Landing mistakenly on my shirt

If I rub it off on my cheek,
My neck,
My lips
Would it be the same?

The same type of love she gives to him,
On 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒅,
To 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔,
In 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎...

The room that stands next to mine.

I cant help myself.
That artificial sweetness on her skin teases the strings I spun just for her in my heart
When I weave my way to her through the harsh rivers of doubt to get a whiff of what could've been
A future without scented walls to separate us

But hearing her through those thin plaster barricades,
My waxy layers melt off,
As the canister holding my strawberry sacrifice calls from the basin
Of discarded chapsticks that once gave her so much joy

Give me the satisfaction
Of knowing that you're recycling this affection
For what?!
Why don't you enlighten me with capped closure
Instead of covering up essential oils with his favorite perfume

Because even when you force yourself to pucker up into unscented soberness,
You know you can't stand the blank space
Between this balm and your lips

So I'll ask of you tonight, my one and only, to please
Hold me tight,
Lead me on,
And promise to love 𝒎𝒆...
Through your chapstick kisses to him.