broodings

hang our picture in a gallery

PICTURE THIS:
i wake up to bright light and warmth and you, you, you.
you're wrapped around me like a cocoon.
you look up sleepily, your chapped lips curving into a smile.
i grin back, and you giggle, a sound that makes my heart sing.
we lie there for what feels like hours, whispering and smiling.
the birds sing, flowers bloom, plants sway.

CAN YOU SEE IT?
when i drag you out of bed, we make pancakes.
the batter is everywhere except the pan.
there's maple syrup tangled in your caramel hair.
there's sugar sprinkled across your dark cheeks.
we eventually give up, grabbing toast.
i pick up every jam and spread we own.
you wander up to the balcony on the third floor.
your eyes are bright and your fingers are sticky.

CONSIDER THIS:
we sit up on the balcony.
our voices warbling bad love songs.
and our hands waving through the air.
you tell me about the election.
we discuss what we've heard on the news.
i yell about the importance of feminism.
( or equality, as i like to call it )
you jump up and join me, we stand.
we're hanging over the hanging plants.
we're screaming at the world.
'no means no!' 'my clothes are not my consent!'
'women should be paid the same as men!'
'we need gender neutral bathrooms!'
we yell every protest under the sun.
when we sit down we're exhausted.
our eyes are sparkling and our cheeks are red.
but we feel right, we feel equal.

LISTEN CLOSELY!
we may not be perfect. scars and burns and blood.
sobs and locked doors and screams.
but together, we hold each other up.
mending, stitching up our wounds.
we are the seamstresses and the dresses.
we are stitching up seams, darning holes in our skin.
you lean on the wall, lean on me, hold me closer.
you wrap your arms around me.

SEE THIS:
you tease and laugh and stop when i ask you to.
you cuddle and kiss every inch of skin.
your rough lips are calming against my smooth skin.
you plant a kiss on my lips.
you dip me, i shriek surprisedly but kiss you back.
we laugh and smile.
grins splitting our stitching but we don't care
for we're armed with needles.
at night, we read each other stories and sing until we can sleep.
we tuck each other up.

ISN'T IT BEAUTIFUL?!
unfortunately, it isn't real.
'we' has never been a concept, a picture, an image.
i wish it was, for then we could hang it in a gallery.
instead, it hangs in my head, collecting dust.