i am a beautiful and fucking ugly thing
so live. create. kill.
There are no wrinkles set into her face and no unhappiness
that touches the corner of her mouth. There are no hesitation
near the eyes or regret on the flesh of her neck, only the tilt
of the head and the lips as they pout and she speaks softly to me.
I’ve smiled.
Pressed between the yellowed pages, she rises like a phantom
who has dived deep into the sea of words and become
a manifesation of every fear, every written desire,
every single embodiment of who I hoped to be,
every possible curvation of being human.
The grace, came at a cost, one I may never know.
One she speaks of:
I’ve smiled.
Finally, those dreams dissipate in the morning air,
cold and constricting to my lungs,
and sleep crawls from under my eyelids.
I want the Tuscan sun to shine above me and
open me into the darken chambers of my heart,
the places where intimacy has become cold
and there are cobwebs who lay, waiting for me to reach out
and wrap them around me.
To embrace them and say, I’ve gained strength from your flaws.
Her eyes, they still watch me.
I’ve smiled.
And it’s time for me to learn to do the same.
