your doe eyes only know
innocence.
your lungs still breathe love.
your cheek against my
hand, so trusting that
i will not
hurt you.
you fall asleep beside me,
sure that i will still be
by your side
when the skies turn
orange.
i want
my fingers to tell
the story of how the
freckles on your collarbones
burst into stars under
my lips. you are an
entire galaxy beneath me
and i have
fallen hopelessly into you.
i am not quite sure
i could find my way
out if i wanted to.
while i slither out from
under the covers
below the black
sky that sparkles like diamonds in the light
and start jogging along the dirt
path at the end of your driveway,
you are dreaming
of your childhood dog.
everything in life seems a little brighter
after it’s gone.i pull my socks off
my feet and push my toes into the dust.
i miss being dirty, i miss
the earth.
a cartwheel– the first time
my hands have touched the
dry ground in so long.
i am a child.i pull off the scarf
around my neck,
the one you gave me
for my birthday last year, and
let it drop behind me.i rip off
my white button-down shirt,
my black pants, my boxers.
i am free, falling
to the ground, melting
into the earth, i am clean
i am clean.i am running, loose,
in the opposite direction
of your house. i am running into
the full moon.
tomorrow you will be
in my past life.
soon this, too, will seem bright.
i am never quite sure
if i’m actually seeing
you. can you see the
living if you don’t believe
in ghosts? and yet
i can see the phantoms
in one’s eyes. i take a step
away and realize
we’re all a little translucent
in the light.
when your mother tells you you’re beautiful
smile and say thank you.
do not tell her that you don’t really care how beautiful you look because: 1) you know your worth, and 2) your confidence doesn’t come from how attractive others find you.when your mother tells you what to wear
give in and let her dress you like a doll.
do not fight for your right to dress how you please; deny yourself the ability to represent your gender identity the way you feel comfortable. wear the goddamn dress to church.when your mother tells you you’ve gained weight
laugh and crack a joke.
do not tell her how rude and unnecessary her comment is, or that you wish she’d stop placing so much value on your looks, because it’s taken you a long time, but you’ve finally learned your weight does not define you or your beauty.when your mother says you ‘don’t need’ to be eating the coconut milk ice cream out of the carton,
tell her she’s right and put it back in the freezer.
do not take another bite and tell her to mind her own business because you can eat what you damned well please.do not remind her that you no longer share her body.
do not remind her that her opinion doesn’t matter anymore.
do not remind her you are not her mirror.
suddenly you’re
speaking too fast and
i can’t quite remember
what we’re talking about.
have your eyes
always been this shade
of blue? and have you
always had that
small little scar on the corner of
your lips? you touch my
shoulder and look at me with
concerned eyes. shit,
did you notice i
was hypnotized?
‘are you okay?’
to be honest, i’m not
quite sure i am: it seems
you’ve recently learned
how to shock me.
a three thousand square foot
barbie dream mansion in
greenwich, connecticut.
a family of four and a dog
you didn’t want but have
grown to love.
a box of a
nuclear family sold
on shelves everywhere.but this wasn’t supposed to be
you. you were supposed to be
on the Saturn V. you were supposed to
get out of this place. this world
was never big enough for you,
and yet somehow it has boxed you in–
as square as the
crusts you cut
off their sandwiches before they run
to the morning bus– a line
as straight as the knife
you cut it with, a knife too dull
to cut through to the parts of yourself that
you try not to think about
when you close your eyes
next to him every night.there are still some nights where
you fall asleep on the couch
with the t.v. on and the remote
on your belly, and you let go
and accidentally dream of the moon.
they told me i couldn’t
hallucinate without
the LSD,
that i don’t really hear the
wind whisper to me.
but this isn’t
a bad trip. i really do
have nightmares about
my own goddamn mother. and
sometimes i swear the sky isn’t blue
so much as it is the absence
of red. and sometimes
all the speaking i do is just
in my head and
the cars driving by sound like
my best friend committing
suicide after
eighth grade graduation.
this isn’t a bad trip.
i’m telling you, the ghosts
still speak even after
you’ve lost the ability to hear
them.
i am stuck
in this dimension that
you only visit to vacation,
and let me tell you,
you’re never here
when it rains.
first,
they are soft: a feather
grazing the inside of my
wrist. then they dance
with mine, two bodies pressed
closely together,
swaying in synchronization.
then,
they are a blanket: light
but warm, hugging
me close, keeping me safe,
blowing air into my
lungs, singing quietly
of an adoration i can
feel. a nibble
of a desire to taste
my entire being.
i savor
the way your hunger feels
on my tongue.
Silenticel 