The young maiden,
with eyes the color of the green-blue sea,
porcelain skin,
and the face of an angel.

She had a hyacinth in her flaxen hair.
She is the hyacinth girl,
with beauty words can't describe,
and the grace of a princess.

Today somebody called me the hyacinth girl,
words nobody has ever said to me.
Glancing at the image in the mirror,
I didn't believe her words.

grotesque,
revolting,
and disappointing.
are all compliments that I have received generously.

hyacinths - however, I have never received.
"words with malicious intent, were never actually intended maliciously", they said.
they led me to believe,
that I could never be the hyacinth girl,
that I see deep inside of me.

The sights of blood red lipstick,
the click-clack of obscenely high heels,
and one too many sprays of eau de parfum.

are these covers?
ones that we put on,
to protect ourselves,
like on cold nights,
as we hide under the covers?

"monogamy or whatever you call it- i'm starting to think it ain't for everybody."*

with our hearts locked up in a far away land,
alas! we open our legs and our mouths.
not to the gifted and the loved,
but the exotic and peculiar.

lost in translation,
we believe that we become whole through experience.
in the back of our mind knowing,
we are more lost than ever.

inch by inch,
as we gnaw at genitalia,
to 'satisfy' our pangs.
we continually tear,
bits and pieces of our hearts,
pushing them into various blackholes,
in the abyss we call our mind.

in various beds, floors, couches, showers,
we bare our bodies naked.
in ritual,
we search for love and our hearts,
not realizing that it's at arms length.