there's a knot in the middle of my spine -
a knot made with flaming fuchsia rope -
that i have never been able to untangle.

my fingers aren't able to reach it quite right;
no matter how much i rub or how far i arch my back against the mattress,
the knot remains as taut as a lifeline.

and i can't cut it loose also,
i don't leave no scars on my back for i have promised myself the blade's lips can kiss my wrist and my wrist only.

there have been people who have encountered me in this life to whom i have mentioned the knot.

a couple of people only nodded and avoided my troubled eyes.

some people have had the pleasure of fastening it even tighter.
experienced sailors with impressive tying skills,
that can secure an entire ship of agony and relentless torture to a worn and raw anchor as heavy as my body,
with the vessel of malicious fingernails and empty words.

most people have only soothed my aching back with gentle fingers;
caressed and patted the knot with a tight lip drawn upon the face
and pitied my sorrow with forbearing eyes.

no one has ever cared to untie the unforgiving knot.

no one has reached out to pull the burning end of the rope and set it loose.

no one has carelessly ripped out of me the sigh i have been guarding in the hollow of my throat for so long.

no one has set me free.

i slept with scissors on my bed
just to see.
to wake up in a new cut.
just to see
if danger is a true concept
if a surprise is something real.

i did sleep with scissors on my bed
because i have a tendency to move around a lot;
just to see
if the blade would try to kiss my rib
to quiet me down;

just to see
if fire really burns;
just to see
if what runs inside my veins
hasn't disappeared yet.
what i saw
was that it is better to sleep with scissors
than to wake up by my own.

i want you.
you,
it is you that i want.
i no longer crave pleasure of my own flesh,
or sweet snacks in the middle of the night
not even my tired eyes crave sleep.
my one most painful and ardent craving is for you.

and i long for the breaking waves of the sea
because they remind me i have bones
that are as fragile as the white foam against rocks.

i remind myself of the pulsing of the earth
because it reminds me of my beating heart
that is yet to begin the apocalypse of my soul.

i think about your hair
and how your curls tangle on my fingers
as if none of them want to let go of one another.

your hands,
which bring me such satisfaction
just by the thought of them
and what mess they could turn me into
if you simply let them stay by me
along with the rest of you
and what a beautiful mess i would be.

i want the feeling
the press and the weight and the grip and the fingernails;
the hair and the burn, the neck and the throat;
the gaze and the tears, the lips, the mouth, the spit
the tongue and the teeth (the fangs
and the bite);
the kiss and the lick, the grinding, the pushing and the
circles of the hips,
the fat of the thighs and the brush of the ankles;
i want the liquid and the hard, the sticky and the sore,
the pain and the sting and the ecstasy of the pleasure;
i want the eye rolls and the sighs and
the gasps and the moans and the screams and the whispers;
i want the banging of the bones and the rubbing of the skin,
the crashing of the waves, the rumble of the storm and the
hissing of the breeze.
i want to meld the two of us together until we become a thousand,
and to never cease sipping on this wine of heedless madness
that we blindly drown in.

i was born in the middle of a question
one of those that people theorize about
one of those science tries to explain and religions preach over:
'why do you hate us so much?'

see, my black skin was made in my mother's womb
and that hate has been passed to me through generations
through my father's blood
and onto this skin of mine.

it resides in my fingertips, my digitals contain ****** scars
behind my teeth there are agonized screams
and inside my womb are the children i had taken away from me.

why is it that even though i can move my arms freely, -
i can throw a punch if i lose myself - i can still feel
the shackles around my wrists?
why is it that my neck feels tight at the sight of every tall tree bench?
why
is
it
that you still hate us so much.

even after all this time i can still see, trust me, even though you try to hide it
i can still see it in your pale eyes
and in every thin lipped smile
in every unwelcome touch to my head
in every single word you say to me,
in every bullet you put in my chest
in every filthy word that comes out of your mouth
in every idea you try to spread
in every step you take behind me at the store
in every single right that  you deny me
i can still feel the hate.

and it is the god's honest truth
that i will, whatever it takes, try to make sure
that the black child that shall bloom from my *****
and that shall not be taken away from me
will be able to live with the blessing that is its skin
and without the burden that is your existence.

it's like a fog that creeps in very quietly.
a smoke that climbs up the walls like greedy vines
takes over the whole room beat by beat
it licks at my feet and in the next second it nips at my neck,
seizes up around my throat,
gets its way in:
it's hunger.
it's pure, raw, bare and violent hunger.
cravings that tear and scream at my fingers
true desire that claws its way up my thighs,
leaves harsh marks and bruises.

it's knocking at my brain, these thoughts
thoughts so red, like thick blood dripping through my lips,
thoughts of those eyes of yours,
that look you give
when you know it's me,
that i am the one for your fire
and you are my smoke.

it's something i want to taste more than the forbidden apple:
(i put that to shame,
i make the serpent jealous)
my hunger is so vicious,
it blocks my vision and numbs my conscience.
it is so true it is an explosion,
a burst of stars and little flames,
that ignores the entirety of time and space,
flows through it so fast it feels slow,
and i get lost in it, i turn drunk and hazy-eyed.
it is everything i need;

and if this smoke suffocates me, then so be it:
my lungs will say praise nonetheless,
they'll worship their own killer
without a hint of shame.

Crying for help
Crying.
for help.
Watching myself bend in half.
turning palms to see static.
Screaming whisper, tied tongue, aphtha secret, soot heart;
Godless, but hellish,
summoning dark forces
from within my own temple.
Giving away the life I never asked for.
Writing whoever's will.
Sorrowful hands, crossing t's,
dotting i's, smudging ink,
elongating g's, drawing down
my putrid whatever;
Giving up;
Surrendering;
Getting knocked down,
blow after blow after blow after blow after blow after
punch after kick after bruise after lost teeth after clot;
Losing conscience.
Like falling asleep in silence, no one knows.
Bones to dust,
dust to ashes;
Skin to scales,
scales into thin paper:
and I'm still writing it down,
though my hands are ancient and sore and
i don't want to anymore.
I never wanted it.
Help me out, let these hands retire.
Roll them up in holy water-soaked bandage, bring on the thorny crown, cross my chest and heart, lower my eyelids and lay me to rest.
To Rest;
to embalm this chipped spine, to fill my lungs with salt water,
to unclench my thighs,
unbend my knees, and to kiss my bottom lip goodbye.

the pages of my notebook,
the ink of my pen.
the tears pooling in my eyes
my knees who so ofter hurt
and then there's you.

everything starts and ends with
you.

every star is born on your scalp
and every star dies at the very last tip of your curls.

you're the eye of the storm
my nights orbit around you and all the longing in my body (all
of it)
belongs to your moons and your winds.

every heart i have ever had
before it even belonged to me
it belonged to you.

loving you this bad
is no longer a distinct feeling in my chest
or a burning thought at core of my brain.
it feels now like it's a part of
the very bare idea
of me.

it feels very much like
my wings, no matter how forcefully they flutter
and raise me up: they
lead me always,
and eternally will,
to you.

it ends and begins with you.


and i pray sorry for every god
who thinks a wrath of their own can be
stronger than this love i grow for you.

i pray forgiveness for every person who has thought themselves
burning with passion
and flooding with emotion
for not a single one of them outmatch
the quiet persistence of my adoration for you.

and i pray mercy on myself
for one day, it is certain,
my tears shall dry and language shall run out of words;
for one day, it is certain,
this love shall tear my seams apart
and consume me to the very last breath
that slides through the barest skin of my lips.

i begin
and i end with you.

see how these soft worn cotton sheets rub against my cheek?
see how the flame of the candle doesn't falter anymore?
see how the cotton candy pink of your lips rewrite history?
see how your kisses pull me out of my slumber and set fire to my veins?

do you see it, baby?

see how my heart churns and softens when i think of your name?
see how your skin feels like velvet underneath my mouth?
see how this promise may chip but it will never break?
see how this slow beating heart drags itself across oceans of blood just to be able to call itself yours, and yours alone?

do you see it, baby?

see how every kink and curl of your hair allows me to sleep at ease?
see how when you say you love me the night sky echoes it back to you
because that's where i hide my love for you? i fill up infinity with it, so the stars can murmur it everlastingly into your heart.

do you see it?
i hope you see it.
i do it all for your eyes only.


(so when you bat your eyelashes my heart beats in sync with it)

I miss you, unknown.
I miss you fiercely and wholeheartedly.

I miss the idea of you,
the concept of your soft curls against my cheek,
my face tucked into your neck.

I am the longing bull,
huffing and grunting impatiently
with ardent eyes, mouth full of fervor
for your crimson presence.

I am the sailing boat, the fisherman,
humming with quiet and unmoving anticipation
for the melody of your song to ring through space.

I miss you.
I miss you in my fingertips and in my brain.
I miss you in my knees and in the depth of my ***** and
in my ritual I roam through sunny days looking for your cool hands
and on the cold days I freeze on the inside and I do not speak.

I miss everything I don't know about you.
I miss everything I thought I knew about you and
I miss not knowing
and wanting to know.

at times the guilt of it all churns my stomach,
to know that letting go of you may burn me on my soft edges
but might keep whole.
the sting of the brutal realisation that your light is not mine to melt my wings for.

still
time after time
I simply miss you.
I miss the idea of you.
I miss you, unknown.

in my mind, there are places.
places like a pearly beach,
soft and wrinkly sand between my toes,
white crisp foam licking the edges of my eyes,
soothing sunlight kissing my cheeks and shoulders,
my skin burnt and salty like it’s edible.

in my mind, there are places.
places like the middle of a soft bed,
me and my love with limbs entwined,
syrupy kisses and slow blinking,
milky touches and soft sighs,
a cheeky warmth spreading through my insides
and cooling handprints on my burning sides.

in my mind, there are words.
and floating around them, there is longing.
longing for innocence, bright-eyed curiosity and ambition.
longing for days in which i am in love with the air entering my lungs
longing for a future in which my tears no longer taste bitter
longing for feelings which now are unfamiliar.


in my mind, i live a happy life.
i am not guilty and i do not cry like i am.
in my mind there are good things,
there are things to smile about.
in my mind, things work out
and my hinges do not squeak
in my mind, i am not disappointed upon blinking my eyes open in the morning
and i do not envy those whose don’t.

but only in my mind.

every time you call,
i'm there,
i go running, i trip at my feet,
but i'm there
at the same time, same place,
same time,
with the same will,
same time,
i'm there.

with the urgency in my hands to,
every time,
get to touch you with the same longing,
with my hunger that's never sated. that,
every time,
grows stronger by the second when i'm at your will.

i love this with a passion,
i take it like a drug,
being at your mercy,
burning my knees raw for you,
praying to the kingdom of your attention,
being blessed by your lips when they whisper my name:
i bask in it all.

i swim deep in the corals of the thought of you,
i explore these waters like they're the deepest of oceans
i sail away, i get shipwrecked in your storms,
i gulp every drop of the waves you drown me in,
i'm left stranded in your shores time and time again;
i get myself lost on purpose,
so i can never be found.

and i know you'll be done in a second so i break my own heart
so it can be your job to mend it back together,
time after time,
i do this and i hurt, i cast poison upon myself
so i can give you the crown of being my antidote.

and i love this, i love this with a passion that sets my bones to a
ardent numbness,
that gets my blood to an addicting intoxication that starts at the mere idea of being near you,
of standing in your heady fog,
hallucinating your sounds in the dark and
seeing your silence amidst screaming landscapes;
stating, with flooded lungs,
fleshly relief in being in your presence.

and i know this, i'll set myself aflame to keep you warm,
i'll build you a shrine so i can devote all my tears to you,
and i'll do this every time, for as long as you want me to,
every time you call
and i every time i'll be there, at the same time,
same place,
same time,
with the same will.

this is the prayer I have exhausted my knees over.
this is the confession I deny in front of god and the mirror.
but this is my one truth.

this I know,
this, I know.

I know how I stick my face out the car window
how I hope the night wind might give me the caress I, so ardently, long for.

i know how I beg entities to give me that release I lust so much after, in
hopes of muting my wars down to faint whimpers or silent sighs.

I know how the balm I spread over my wounds take shape of a sharp blade;
and how the blood that seeps through is like a cold river flowing over sizzling stones.

I know it all and I know it all too well.

the thing is that I can no longer withhold desperation from flooding up the bloodstream.
I can no longer hide it and if i do a second more my waves shall swallow every shore I have ever created and planted my feet firmly onto.

I am well past rock bottom and I feel as if my back was to hit it again it would feel like a soothing hand.

I feel
lonely.
I feel
like my heart has been starved of touch and tenderness for centuries.
and I feel
alone
inside each laugh is a blank stare
and I am
crying so much
I have turned into
drops and I
and I
and I
and I see the waves coming.

cada momento passado na realidade
me dá mais certeza
de que te inventei alguns anos atrás
te coloquei numa gaiola de sonhos ansiados
da qual conseguiste escapar,
levando teus pés por um tapete de estrelas
pra chegar até mim.

desejos infinitos que cultivei antes do acontecimento de ti
(aqueles que pensei que pra sempre seriam fantasmas na minha mente)
agora desabrocham nas palmas de minhas mãos
toda vez que encosto em ti,
deságuam nos meus calafrios
toda vez que encostas em mim,
e vibram na nossa volta
toda vez que estamos juntas.

(sentimento doce esse de se construir
uma em volta da outra
e se conhecer
uma em volta da outra
e de dar voltas uma em volta da outra
incessa e incansavelmente.)

me sinto mar revolto de profundeza apaziguada quando deito contigo.
nossos movimentos como ondas que quebram uma em cima da outra e chiam num sussurro explosivo;
gemidos que vêm de furacões de dentro do peito
transbordam na curva do lábio
e derramam no lençol
como mel pingando da colmeia.

a maneira na qual esperamos o verão dobrar a esquina,
nos ocupamos achando maneiras de nos esquentar
dissertando uma sobre a outra
pelo fio invisível do telefone
o qual não nos separa e não mede distância:
quando estou perto de ti estou perto de mim mesma
e de toda minha luz
que se mistura com tua luz
e faz de nós sol.