so I don’t pop it into my flesh.
We go axe throwing
and I imagine the blade
sinking into my back
as I throw.
I reek of smells I do not know.
No answers.
Only questions floating inside aimless space;
wondering “when will I feel better?”
“When will I finally be better?”
and I write:
“why do I feel like everyone looks normal
and I feel so deformed?”
I attempt to hide my face away with my sleeve.
Hide my arms in my cardigan,
hide my legs under the table,
I’m not ready for others to see the full me yet.
My mother once joked in summer
that I finally had limbs to show,
had skin to prove I was human,
but didn’t want to show off.
I just wanted to exist without judgement,
to exist without fear.
I just wanted to exist.
For now, I’ll hide my arms in my hoodie sleeves,
boil to death,
but I won’t care
cause at least no one will have to see
the real me.
The human me
maybe no one is meant
to see.
There wouldn’t be anyone else I’d go to a party with.
Drink with.
Have dinner at Peirce with.
Spend a night down at the train with.
Ice cream at the bookstore with.
Study at midnight in the library with.
Dance with.
Laugh with.
Smile with.
Have the wind tangled in my hair with.
Feel the chill of summer air on my skin with.
Close my eyes and listen to guitars
and feel the hum of the stars in the sky with.
There wouldn’t be anyone else I’d be my true self around with
other than you.
Happy pride yall!
The sky is gay.
The purple of the night
contrasting the silvery moon
that her eyes glow in.
Eyelashes and mascara shimmering,
her happiness radiating
as the stars glow in the purple night.
The darkness moves
and no one can see
the hidden kisses we take,
the moonlight in her hair,
the wonder in her eyes
as the stars dance above us.
Our hidden acts of love
happen under the purple night sky,
keeping us safe
from the lurking shadows of the day.
It’s purple a safety blanket
for our love.
The sky is gay.
The purple of the night
keeping us hidden,
keeping us safe,
keeping us alive.
TW: Physical Sickness
to the point where I have to take an Imodium
to clear out the bees stuck in my intestines,
the beehive of my stomach,
always gurgling,
yelling,
wanting more
when there’s no more room left
for anything.
The bile rises like a train on tracks
going 150 mph,
another train…
