Coffee And Roses

coffee and roses

It’s the way your name tastes like

coffee beans and rose petals. 

How your golden hoops, 

Glittering like precious metals, 

Swing with their embedded rhinestones. 

It’s the way you run your tongue 

over your teeth and bite your lip. 

How you prove my arguments wrong, 

But with a playful quip 

As if you don’t know the warm glow in my chest.

It’s the way you invited me to 

That coffee date and we took 

Pictures like a real couple. 

How we folded stars with their colorful look

With those strips of colored paper. 

It’s the way you gifted me 

That jar with our paper stars.  

How the jar’s glass refracts the sun 

And scatters the light across my room 

In dappled spots like komorebi. 

It’s the way I felt when you

Told me I tasted of the 

Lip gloss you wear

How I felt when you said that 

I tasted of your lips. 

It’s the way you hold my heart 

Cradle it oh so gently 

In your hands as if you don’t 

Have the power to crush it 

Into a million tiny pieces. 

It’s the way I know that 

Even if my name on your lips 

Tastes of ecstasy 

You will be

The death of me

how to be a saint

they expect much from you. they will touch your skin and claim your blessing. they will chant your name until their lips form it without thinking, until their tongues have memorized the way it tastes, until they have said it so many times that they’ve claimed it as their own. your name is no longer yours. it is theirs. it is divine, now. 

you, too, are divine. they will fall to your feet and you will feel the whisper of their lips caress your skin. benevolently, gently, they will graze fingertips across your face like they are touching the face of your god. this body is not yours anymore. it is of the gods. it is a vessel. 

they will not always be so gentle. they touch you with reverence, yes, but they are hungry. they are hungry for the touch of the divine for the gods for you. they will devour you with dripping lips and red hands and smile and say more. it is never enough. it never will be. they will slowly taste your flesh and tear you to pieces. your blood is not yours anymore. it is stardust and ichor and wine and ecstasy. 

the choir sings like angels with your name at every breath and you realize their singing starts to sound like screaming. why aren’t you singing? Sing for us. your voice is the gods’ voice. no it is not your voice you do not get to speak for yourself. you never spoke for yourself. your voice is not yours. 

your body is a temple. they will offer up food and drink and more gold than you will ever need. none of it is yours. the church will take it. you do not know what for. they tell you not to worry about it. worry will mar that perfect face of yours. do not destroy that body gifted to you by the gods, they say. do not be ungrateful. they have made you a perfect vessel for us. this is not the first time they have made a temple out of a body. haven’t you figured it out yet? you own nothing. nothing is yours anymore. 

they crave you like they crave anything they cannot have. you are intoxicating, addicting, your silken skin and sweet voice. they stare up at you like you are a god, blinded by the light. they do not realize they are looking at a corpse. 

how come you are not perfect? you were molded in the shape of perfect beings. you should be perfect. they want more. they need more. you are not enough. if you are not enough they will feast on your flesh and lick their lips and beg for more. can you hear them screaming? they need more. more. MORE. 

you taste divine. 

daughter of dusk

daughter of dusk, 

selfish and cruel—

breaking, falling, 

her faces dual 

raw petals curling from 

cracked emerald eyes

nourished by tears 

and quiet lies

bleeding hope from 

thorn-lined skin—as

briar shields flower

as hands from help

don’t leave me please—

etched in starlight 

don’t let me go—

please hold me tight

then bleeding—bleeding; 

red slowly seeping 

lines upon lines while 

waiting for the reaping

but she’s right there

stay—leave—stay—please

is it—she—me—so wrong

you’re on your knees

just say it’s fine and

bandage the cuts

it’s just a bad dream. 

keep your eyes shut.

apocalypse

If the world were to end

In fire or in ice

Or at our own hands

To fight a war thrice; 

You’d find me outside

With the night sky

Because after stars die

Their light reach our eyes.

spring dawn

You’re the snowdrop that delicately lifts 

Its head up from the melting snow—

The way first blades of grass push up

through the blanketed plateau. 

You’re the shy and rosy blush 

Of the briar’d, waxen rose; 

The golden warmth of apricity

and the hopping, playful crows. 

You’re the soft and dew-touched hush 

Of the leaves after the rain—

The deep bellow of white-winged geese 

Heading home—home—again. 

You’re the fragile, dainty dance 

Of the young and prancing fawn; 

The dappled light of komorebi 

From the slow rising of spring dawn. 

Oh, darling—

You have been hurting 

For a very long time. 

I am sorry that you have spent your life

Saying “I’m sorry” for others

I’m sorry you’ve spent your life 

Feeling like you need to be more palatable

To be perfect for others 

Because you can’t be perfect for yourself.

Because you don’t want to be a waste of space

Because to be unproductive is to be useless

Oh, darling—

You have been hurting 

For a very long time

Haven’t you? 

You want to hold the world because it is beautiful

But you are too loud, too demanding, too much. 

they try to drown you because you are beautiful

For living unapologetically. 

Oh, darling—

You do not need to be less loud 

Less hopeful

Less perfect. 

You have been grieving the loss 

of the beautiful world

Because they have tried to drown you. 

Oh, darling—

You are not too much

But just enough.

Because you’re beautiful for living as you are

And perfect for loving the world as you do.

You have been hurting 

for a very long time

You have so much love to give—

So let others love you too. 

You have always

Been good enough.