she feeds her plants with blood and writes stories to send to distant girls with empty hearts.
i didn't know the song yet [about the death around her eyes
she says that she takes pieces of her words and strings them
together, but /i can see the stitches where she cut wholeness.
what once felt like drums and dancing now reads like tightness and desert sand. the love is gone
i miss her. this body has a memory. i miss the boy who wrote me stories. i miss the writing i lost and the paintings i gave away. the scream is quiet. and. i didn't cry.
i started over. but i can't forget. it's a part of me missing
when i paint for the colors of the couch and the pattern under
my toes the thoughts drown out my pulse. so i let go, and my movements are like the best mistakes. the waters become muddy and alive~and i become the beekeeper of the layers, the white paint that is now thick greens and pastels swallowed by black.
you cut circles of paper with a razor to hide the tears. perhaps we ripped it with your anger, when you threw your pain across the room and then held yourself with music, or perhaps it was the accident of our speed. this canvas is a moment of us, and these are our unknowns.
i take white pills that dry me into supergirl strength for long days. there have been so many endings that i forget it is all beginning
i am a deep and hungry growing thing, carrying promises of blue-eyed baby poems. you are the proof of beautiful talent, but this is not the time for our love story. not on this page, as a part of my ink and paint and fears.
this moment is for her, the girl/.she's my fiction, the reason to write and paint, a receiver of the sea and salt. i want to tie the ocean to her knees and rub colors through her skin with my fingers. i watch film and read poetry and grow plants for her. she's my unfulfilled romance, my ache and well of possibilities. when i search for her i make mistakes, writing with words full of heat that only i can recognize.
this is my ode to feeling the waves again, to letting them fill and control me.
now i know how to protect what is precious to me. i can never return to that mistake, instead it becomes a rock, a reason to dream. i survived witches, so i can survive trolls and my self-inflicted wounds.
