Wind
You are magical
An invisible
Entity
Light as a feather
Strong as an elephant
A bipolar
Breeze
Floats a pappus
Lifts a house
Whistles as it works
Roars like a freight train
In the midst of the storm
Loud
Quiet
Wind
A multitude of marvelous manifestations of my musings
Flit around my mind as if the sun was cycling
across my kaleidoscope eye
Unfortunately the florescent fixtures in my dwelling fail to facilitate my fantasies
The paints in front of me are crusted over and my brushes crunch
A canvas and glue and wood and screws
Require a trip to the store
And money I don’t have
Suddenly my motivation is gone
The ideations of my imagination remain inconceivably intangible
To me, it seems my creativity is impassive
where I wish it were insatiable
At last, the sun shines upon us
and the mud is washed away.
For it was a long time since I’d
last seen my lover, a true knight.
Words spoken in whispers over
the phone of everlasting love.
Would it still hold true when the
daylight came back to us?
For I knew a verison of him that
was only seen by me. Passionate.
And he drew feelings out of me
that I did not know could exist.
I never believed one could look
into the eyes of another that way.
The way old couples said that their
lover was the most beautiful of all.
I thought it was a lie. How could an
ordinary person be the most beautiful?
Truth be told, how could I be the most
beautiful to someone with my flaws?
And I was not convinced until I first
met eyes with my lover. It was magic.
I understand now how you can see
the entire world in another’s eyes.
The feeling is like no other. It was
undeniable to me that he was mine.
And in turn, I was his. And somehow
all the missing puzzles pieces were found.
Fireworks exploded in my mind and
I knew that my lover was home at last.
darling,
the last time you
were in my bed,
our arms interlocked into some sort of
spider web adjacent shape,
you asked just what I
would do to prove my love.
in the moment I said
“I’m not one for grand gesture.”
but now seems
like the sort of occasion
to state just what I would do.
I would make your tea with just enough honey.
I would leave the toilet seat down,
without being asked.
I would fold your clothes,
because I know how much you hate it.
I would lasso the moon,
with shades of a George Bailey.
I would learn to sing in french,
any song you desire.
I would read you every sonnet
Shakespeare ever made,
and if you wanted,
I’d pretend I wrote them instead.
If you told me to punch,
then I would punch,
and punch,
and punch and punch and punch
at the concrete,
until my knuckles were bloody,
and until they left imperfect hearts
on the pavement where you step.
point being,
there ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do
for you my love.
now please,
come lay under my covers.
you know these mornings
have been oh so lonely
without your soul next to mine.
In this moment, scanning across the horizon
the chance to entangle with the coming day
a way to fight the fear of night.
Leaves change color
As my hair does too
one blink of an eye
and everything is new
I’m about to be a junior in high school now
and I no longer have you
I play strong,
say strong, but
the moment I
have a moment
unquiet questions burble,
surface – boiling pot
forgotten, steam stinging:
A kettle singing
songs of regret.
Dear Mother,
You always said,
You hoped one day that I,
Would have a little girl,
One, who was just like Me,
Well, I did.
Actually, I doubled my luck,
I got two of them,
Two, little girls just like, Me.
Everyday, I wake up falling in love with them
More than I did the day before…
I didn’t know love like that existed
But it does and it came from the best parts of me
I look at them every single night
When I tuck them in,
Sealing in the love you never gave
As I have for eighteen years now
I realize I was not the problem.
Merely the product
Of the love you simply couldn’t give.
A doctor tells me to align my joints
“More normally”
to “play a sport”
that I will be “cured by
sleeping better”
that every ache or cough or injury is just
(& also Justice)
because I am fat.
A doctor tells me, when I am struggling to stay alive
when I cannot eat from sorrow my
spirit made hollow from
Grief, that
The diminishing number on the hallway scale is
“a good problem to have.”
A doctor smirks as she orders me
to lift my breasts
the apron of my belly
the folded softness of my thighs aside
to check for skin cancer.
I hear a doctor’s snide laughter in the hallway
after.
