(oct 6)
i want to imagine
a life when scars are invisible
and are as typical as deers
in school fields
would my life had been
worth of something
as pure as a new set
of freshly unfathomable
organs?
would have they treated me
like the others?
bite me on the shoulder
until their fangs feel
the blood
gushing out of my
imperfect skin,
eyelashes were made to flutter
so why are his giving me
a frost bite on the nose
i covered star stickers with?
just cut 'em off already
why don't you?
save me the trouble
of coming back from the dead.
we're talking in sticatto everyday
and i'm sick of it
he shakes his head and
drags his hands across his face
because it's hailing inside
his house on eleventh street
and i can't help him
because i'm incapable of
controlling the weather
so i watch from where
it rarely snows (from across the room)
three hundred kilometers away.
when i think of him
i think of swimming in the
adulterous words he lets out
as he sunbathes in the hollow ocean
above our heads,
hearts overweighting our
small scrawny bodies,
indelicate lives going extremely lime
between our fingertips
as monsters hold out their
palms for us to join the chaos
they've just begun,
but we decline and refuse
because even though we are broken
we still have fidelity
crippling in our bones
telling us to mind our own business
and continue screaming in our own
craniums even though
it hurts holding it in.
sunken fingers waving to strangers
he'd probably kissed
once before in a bar,
seeing a glimpse of heaven
in his orbs
when he smiles like that,
his oceanic dimples
showing every time,
his grim figure slacking
to the mango tree
he planted at spring,
as ripe as an avocado could be!
harvest them and treasure it
in your closet (where i am)
i'm craving walnuts for lunch.
tangerine fogs smoking up
the mountains on his ivory back
meadows with just yellow buttercups
flowering in mid-april
trailing down along
his shoulder blades
and crystal vines sprouting
from his ears to his bare feet
i talked to you then
but my love was a sapling in denial
for the first plant i encountered
in sunflower state last summer
so your oasis of a mind was still
a mundane swamp to me.
but besides seasons changing
i savor you to your sweet-scented
yarrows from july,
and cloudy daisies that follow the
amply wind of gaea's nights,
to your now dead autumn leaves
on the lighthearted treehouse
we shared our first jokes on.
