So here I am.
Within your heartstrings.
I like to think I flow through your mind like blood flowing through your superior vena cava.
And there you are.
Rolling and rolling and tumbling around the empty train station in my mind.
Like a tumble weed.
Where did you come from?
Were you ever really mine?
What is the color of my eyes?
Grey, like the clouds.
At least that's what they tell me.
But you aren't here very often and only sometimes do you come around with your talent of using words to your advantage even though I'm the only person who sees through your fake persona and too long brown lucious hair.
But this one's for you.
Just like the one I wrote when I first started but that was a different story.
That had a different meaning.
A different message.
That one said;
"I love you."
This one says;
"I still do."
Melancholy days stretch
their spindly fingers, silently
grasping and uprooting
these vain contextual processes-
even as seaweed hair clings to rock
and the semiotic tides weep below
Hush now and they’ll appear
in unwavering moonlight
prospective fishermen (mere boys, really)
casting heavy nets into the sea,
much like their silent runaway dreams…
a multitude of iridescent scales escaping
yet oddly transforming into
the vast unknown
Do memories exist from a time
when all you knew was
the warm fluid-filled sac that you were immersed in?
Suspended and trapped,
buoyant like boneless jellyfish,
oblivious to the planetary spin,
or anything, really,
beyond this transparent world
protecting all that is precious
Your tiny ears,
inundated with the
constant drone of a steady pulse (your own)
And yet -
Somewhere in the distance
a single tune,
a strange sweet melody
pure, but diluted
floats down upon your tiny being
grasping tendrils of neurons,
rooting itself in the unknowns of your subconscious,
content not knowing restraint
Only to come back to life,
ignited by -
i acted cool.
You know, like how they do it on TV.
27 floors up,
your door was unlocked.
i didn't take my shoes off,
that way you could see the bad ass i really am,
You know, you told me you loved me.
That's why I came.
i believed you.
Oh, how naive of you, i think back now.
I sat on your beat-down chair,
while you sprawled out on the floor-level couch.
I was terrified,
but the kids on TV are never scared.
He said he loved you.
No one else has ever felt that way before.
He loves you, kid.
You can do it.
Come cuddle on the couch?
Meh, maybe if i feel like it later.
Play. It. Cool.
i slide unto the foot of your sex-stained sofa.
i can feel your feet shaking behind my back,
your toes teasing my sides,
poking in and out between my ribs.
i know what you want,
and i want it too.
Keep. It. Cool. Kid. Keep it Cool.
i feel my hands slip out of your tight grasp,
my fingers inching their way up your leg,
following the dips of your pelvic bone.
What is happening?
The taste of you is so foreign to me.
i've never known the sweetness of another human being.
Let's go to your room?
Kid, it's just like on TV.
Okay, yeah, i guess if you really want to.
i didn't want to take my clothes off.
The world was spinning,
i was seeing and feeling things i didn't know to exist.
What is happening?
i love you.
i love you, i love you.
it's all over,
27 floors of shame.
not only don't you love me,
you don't talk to me.
i had a thought.
i ran out of my room,
down the hallway,
and into the bathroom.
i wriggled out of my worn down, tie dye shirt.
hopping up and down as i pull off my
high-waisted jeans, pulling my pant leg with my foot as i
trample the dark denim to the ground.
i stand there naked, in front of the
harsh, full length mirror.
combing my fingers through my natural, wavy hair.
i contort my face in disgust, cocking
my head slightly to the side.
i close my eyes, and take one deep breath in.
when i open my eyes,
the reflection staring back at me is a thin, natural
Her smooth ivory skin glows in the
silvery reflective glass.
Her stomach is flat and toned.
Her breasts lay on Her chest in perfect
proportion to the rest of her petite frame.
i run my fingers down the sides of my body.
my palms trailing along, dipping and
rising with the mounds beneath my skin.
i close my eyes and open them again,
this time taking my reflection for
what it really is.
i am fat.
my skin is pink and spotted with freckles the
colour of blood.
my stomach hangs low, covering the part
a man should see when i'm naked.
my breasts are big.
but not in the way you'd like them to be.
they lay there, sort of lop-sided.
hanging just above my ribs. Another place for
fat to take over.
the cuts on my thighs are hardly noticable
i can see tears in the eyes of the reflection staring back at me,
but i am numb.
i thought correctly. i am
fat. i am ugly.
Nobody in their right mind would want to