You took your hand, and you held my face, and you didn’t tremble, you didn’t shake. Your hand felt cool against my cheek... I think I was warmer than usual, because you were sitting so close, in more than just a physical sense. You touched my face, and it made me wonder, has anybody ever … Continue reading I was afraid of you, because of the way you touched me.
It's never as bad as I think it is, until I take another look in the mirror. My stomach transforms into a pretzel as the realization "I can always get worse" really begins to sink in. The old scars are so faint now that if I avoid bright lights nobody could even see them. I … Continue reading “Tomorrow is where I placed all of my hopes, but I should have saved something, anything, to get me through today…”
"He loves me." He shared with me his secrets, Hidden between kisses. I stockpiled every last one, Treating them like stained glass; I avoided touching them, But I loved watching the world Through his colorful view. ~He loves me not.~ He only ever looked at me Through a rainbow lens, And it leaves me … Continue reading He loves me; he loves me not.
Her hands trace over your body, And as they move down your neck The butterflies in your stomach Melt into a solid mass Of fear and uncertainty For what her hands will find… The scars you’ve tried to hide In your summer hoodies And forced affinity for jeans. Her fingers reach your shoulder, Burning … Continue reading “I loved the way she touched me, the way she ran her hands over my past without reservation.”
You were coloring in my lights, Drenching a binary world A pallet of contradictions. Unbalanced, indiscriminate yellow, Stoplights shaded evergreen, And as your lips buzzed my name, I felt the edges of a wave That promised to dye My timid October orange Every variant of the red Lurking in my veins.
You don’t have to be afraid, My sweet primrose, Of the coming storm. The clouds are rolling in, And in that gray wave The Lions of the sky reign. Their manes, majestic ash, With roars born From a clash of light Fighting to find solid ground. Look past the lightning, And listen for the moments … Continue reading “The wind is howling, turning raindrops into bristling needles on my arms, and in that familiar pain I can almost remember where the scars all started.”
That little light from your lampshade 