caughtwhen I was youngerI used to chase boysacross the schoolyardand carve their names intothe darkest depths ofmy makeshift diaries;I thought they were mybest kept secrets,so carefullytucked away under thecorners of my mattress(or so I thought until my motherasked me exactly whojonathan was and whymy tongue trippedover his name.)as I enteredmy ripe and pungentteenage years full of angstand peer pressureI found myself fallingor rather flailingmadly into love,which the first one isalways the messiestbecause we’re still notquite sure what love isexcept that it makes yourchest feel tight andsitting in class next to your nowbest-friend-turned-crushextremely hard--needless to say he wasneither the first nor lastboy to play with my heartstrings.but now as I sit on the edgeof adulthood my feet danglingprecariously off its ledge,the names and faces thatused to line the marginsof my notebookshave faded to fond memoriesand I’ve found myselftraveli
wide awakethere are some nightswhere the shadows of the eveningsettle upon my shoulderslike disregarded wingsand sleep finds me teeteringon the edge of my bedin a stone cold stuporas I run my fingersalong my ribs like aconvict rattling their cell doorin a desperate attemptat grabbing someone’s attention;and yet here I am sittingcold and alonesurrounded by dead satellitesand listening to the static silenceof an empty roomas I try to compact thethoughts that rush throughmy weary mind intoa pill that I mightactually be able to swallow.
sun dazedher steps are free and frivolous as she dashes through a field of wildflowers,the hurricane that brews beneath her pink clad chest dissolves into oblivion soaked clouds on days reminiscent of simpler times. she plucks unsuspecting daisiesfrom their lackadaisical daydreams on this sun dazed sunday and makes crowns for Kings Arthur’s court because she knows that kings and knights deserve to feel pretty too.her feet swing back & forth to the inner song that wakes her bones as she sits on the edge of the dock her dress just
singing silverthe sweet earth sighs gently asthe rain washes me in sweet repose,the singing silvertakes me back to memorieswrapped in warm summer nights.
xciv. you are the stardust between my sheetssilently our bodiesmeld together in wavesof hot and cold as ourarms and legs tanglelike comets dancing atthe feet of Orion,your soft and lecherouslips sweep across mystinging cheeks as yourdelicate fingers work orbitsaround my hips leavingstardust trails in their wake;we are two bodies boundto collide like the brilliantcolors of the northern lightsfor we are cosmic lovers:you are my shining galaxyand I am a black hole--I will swallow you whole.
xcv. she's made of plasticwe are not plastic and perfect,made in china is notbranded across our feetand we do not fit withinthe tight waisted guidelinesof Vogue or Cosmo.we are not plastic and perfect,our thighs embraceeach other in greetingwhile our collar bones sitcomfortably nestled aboveour envious breasts thatsigh with every VS commercialthat plays on the airwaves.we are not plastic and perfect,even though we’repressured everyday tobe buxom 36-24-36hourglass modelsthat would rival those onevery Sports Illustrated cover--we just don’t measure up.