He paints.
He paints me.
He paints what I left behind.
The marks I made.
My lingering parts.
He uses lines.
Copper paint such as my hair.
True blue such as my eyes.
Chaos, passion, pain.
Always beauty.
To him I am beauty.
To him I won't leave.
I am his even if I am not.
And, so he paints.

All the admirers want to know what it is they are staring at.
What they stood in line to buy.
He speaks pretty words from a pretty mouth and says nothing of me.
They hang me on their walls.
Then it's no longer me. It is what they see.
But, to him
the lines,
the copper,
the true blue,
the spattered black.
It is me.

Maybe if he told them I wouldn't be a ghost?
I wouldn't be someone lost to grieve.
Maybe if he hadn't hidden me in lines I would be more than paint and memories?

He speaks with paint.
His art talks about what I left behind.

He forgets he left things, too.
A lot more than just his faded shirt and spare key.
He left his mark on me forever.
A wound that will never heal into a scar.

I have never been as strong as people say I am
I don't know where the notion came from
I don't know why they assume and leave me alone
to handle what comes at me
What pulls me down
What takes my joy
What clouds my judgement

For once I would like someone to say:
You have been strong enough alone.
I am here now, too.

Spin me 'round
Spin me 'round
and spin me 'round again
Spin me 'till I am dizzy
                  and
too confused to see the door

Waste my life
Hurt my friends
Wait!
What friends?

Oh, spin me 'round
Spin me 'round some more.

Paper is my liberation
Ink is my weapon
Men are my poison

I am often wrong
always wrong
and always sure I will be.

A beautiful mess.

Lonely at the top?
I would not know.

Always in line.
I wait.
I wait for nothing and no one.

Nice dream.
White horse in a meadow.

Nice dream,
The ocean crashing to shore.

My reality,
he took my sweet dreams away.

Nice dream,
He is dead.

The things they say to describe me

Beautiful
Stunning
Sweet
Funny
Cute
Smart
Good
Wild
Strong
Se­xy
and more..

Their words from their mouths and yet it is not enough.

Because, passion, laughter, and adventure is meh.
Loyalty, friendship, trust, and a ready ear isn't so important.

I AM all these things.
I am made of soft skin, obscene curves, a true smile, and empathy.

And, yet never enough for these fools.

We desperately tried to cram forever into a couple of hidden days.
I was so busy soaking him in that I rarely asked why we had to.

It was always about the count down.
The count to when he was near. How many states we had between.
The weeks, days, hours, minutes...until we connected. Then the pull.
The impatient drag to a quiet place.
The mad rush to crush flesh against flesh.
And. Then the timer until he was gone would start.
Making every look. Every creased smile, every finger trail down tight flesh and each and every one of his sweet sighs of pleasure one of the last.

Even our very first kiss was one of our last.


We were doomed to end .
I didn't want to face we had expiration because he swore we were meant to be.
Even now after so much pain.

He felt the same.
He said so in his lingering touch, his hesitation to let go.
His soft brown eyes always lingered on my face taking the mental pictures he would need to survive the distance between us he created.
The words he wanted to say always hung in the air but they were never spoken.
Every thing else was.
He always said
I adore you. You're my best friend.

He asked for every piece of me
But, only gave pieces of his world to me.

But. Did he say "Stay." ?
Stay by his side.
In his bed.
In his world.
He never did.
He asked for every piece of me
But, only gave pieces to me.

And, so I had to walk away.