It seems a silly, foolish thing: obscure
abstracted expectations heeded sure.
However, comfort found or shred in thread,
defiance! Liberation for the dead
to overthrow, reject, deny decrees
imposed from fears that freedom means disease.
Because it chokes, barbed-wire laceration
began with shouts of divine damnation,
outpours a strangled, blood-laced river with
no end—laws unaware of gender’s myth.

To them, I am a thing one can acquire.
Behind eyes worn,  I tire— Oh! How I tire
of worth and value foisted most unjust.
Disgust conceals (reveals) clandestine lust;
they loved (and also often hated) me
for what I am and what I never will be.

If I had my way,
I would craft words that sway
your heart and mind to think of
me
as consumed in thought as I am of
you.

I write you love poems
Because I need to shape the tumultuous feelings
That occupy my heart and head
At all hours of dawn and day.
The words beg to spill out.

You grace me with
lightness, bright mornings, cool breezes,
darkness, soft notes, flickering candle flames,
warmth from gentle sun's rays, highlighting text,
and the curve of your spine as you stretch across the sheets.

I have never known peace like this.
This is as true as my heart beating double-time to yours.

I spill words of trauma and loneliness,
of fear, and hate, and years of bottled
up bruises.
I know the stories I convey hurt you,
leave you speechless and unsure how to console me,
But I have never felt safe enough
To flood the world with these confessions
Before I met you.

Your palms apply pressure,
reassurance from an outstretched hand
to a simple ruffle of my hair,
and the empathy runs over from your eyes,
unable to fathom
a child taught respect by fire, threatened with severe burns to be molded, controlled, manipulated,
a child taught their worthlessness by begging for forgiveness,
rejected pleas leaving tear-stained innocence,
imprinting guilt far below just the superficial skin,
You ache for this pain of mine to dull and fade,
translated through the embrace of me into your time and space, mind and body.

I have never known love like this.
This is as true as your heart beating half-time to mine,
So why can't I tell you that I love you?

i woke up this morning
to an “I LOVE YOU”
text in all caps
sent at 2:29am

no “for...” or
“when...” or
“because...”

unwarranted
but unequivocal

in my foggy morning headspace i
searched through the events of yesterday
looking for things i might have done that you’re thanking me for—
i didn’t hold you while you cried or
feel your burning forehead or
fold your laundry—
there must be something i did recently
to prompt your adamant and abrupt declaration or
confession

an immediate reason
for loving me
because surely there must be
a reason or

you must have texted the wrong number
and this was meant for someone else
someone more
deserving
someone who does not have to work to warrant love—
especially the kind
that explodes like a firework out of the soul at 2:29 in the morning or

maybe you were drunk
you must have been
you love everyone when you’re wasted
i hope you were because

i can’t take your love if it isn’t conditional
that would mean that i
well that i’m good enough
and that everything i’ve suffered to
paint worth onto my teeth and tongue
never worked or ever meant anything

your memory isn't quite so loud anymore–
you've dwindled
into a two-dimensional
grayscale outline

you don't have much color left
            to bleed into my fingertips
            when I try to remember
that used to leave me
            blissfully intoxicated and
            helplessly madly addicted
no it's

faded and everything's
quite tame now

now I suppose I'm
just
missing you quietly

waiting
            as you still bubble
            on the back burner–
the steam has begun to dissipate and I've
            started to survey the mess I made while
            hopelessly blind

now I guess I'm
just
missing you quietly

feeling the heat of your palms
            evaporate and
waiting

waiting for my skin to remember
            how to fend for itself against the cold
                        – I wish you knew how much it still stings –
hearing the last remnants of your voice in soft broken echoes–
            consonants whispered into the breeze
wondering

as I watch you
fade

if I will
            ever
draw in color
again?

In a large mixing bowl, add:
- 1 ½ cups all-purpose existential anxiety
- 1 ¾ teaspoons philosophical meanderings
- ½ teaspoon purple fatigue from the under-eye
and beat
and beat
and beat
for an hour or two or
until the mixture becomes a pale periwinkle.
​
In a separate bowl, cream together
- 1 cup sticky nostalgia
- 2 cups creamy moonlight, chilled
then crack 2 large wet pupils, at max capacity,
and mix, watching the salty yolks
dissolve sugary memories,
until time travel
begins to make you sick.
​
Then, stir in ½ cup sweat
from folded creases and crannies,
pour the batter carefully into a greased pan,
and bake underneath hot cotton bedsheets.

While waiting,
pluck 6 of the brightest stars out of the black sky,
pound into flat sheets, then
collect 6 pearls of hardened regret
and wrap each in a star.
​
When the cake turns a greenish-grey,
uncover and
top with star pastries
and pink marshmallows
from the early sunrise.