lily hills white

et venus?

you thought it was over, right?

that i was done speaking of you, about you, to you. i’m sure you wish.

i wish.

gods- zeus, poseidon, apollo, hades, dionysus-

goddesses- aphrodite, athena, artemis, persephone, hera-

i could’ve called on all of them, whether they be full of benevolence or malice, my knees painted with earth’s soil, head tilted to the cotton candy clouds where secular airplanes fly.

tears fallen, and i’d beg, “please take me away from here.”

because,

you were no blooming sapphic tale of early maiden’s questioning eyes. you were no stolen kisses under crocheted blankets and leftover stains of sweet tea, lips pursed for any chance of fleeting glee.

you were man.

the first of many,
the only true after my father,
you took and took,
but you never gave.

of a honeydew and nectar kind of love?

ha, you were all blue. still are, i assume.

“hurt people hurt people,” they say.

is that why i still can’t fly high?

why, when i try, my wings encase me in liquefied wax like icarus flying too close to the sun?

is that why i bleed lifeless, venusian red?

but most importantly,

is that why man is maimed with the hurt of you?