It's always a bluff

Remember when you saw me?
Not with your eyes, 
you always looked away. 
I never quite understood why,
but given we're taught

love is blind

love at first sight

love is love

it's no fucking wonder 
I mistook another male gaze
for any sort of meaning. 

Remember when you touched me?
You lifted me up, grabbed 
onto some part of myself 
I was unaware of. 
You pulled me down, held
onto some part of myself
that I can't reclaim. 

butterfly kisses 

finger painted tattoos

plane tickets around the world

I think if I were to
pick apart all of my bones, 
sift cartilage from walls, 
strength from a sucker punched gut, 

I could find the "before."

I'm just not sure where I belong
or where I fit
or how to get out of my head
in the "after."

Consent

I gift my heart permission to feel. 
          my brain permission to analyze. 
                    my body permission to crave. 

because, what does consent look like
without practicing how "no" feels 
on the depths of my emotions 
the electricity running through me 
and the tips of my fingertips grazing
the delicate wetness of my inner folds

it's the way he pinned me down
a degree at a time until I boiled
the confusion the next morning 
the denial the following year 
the shame recorded in my deposition

it's the way she manipulated me
into questioning the voices in my head
both the one informing me I am worthy 
and the louder one that remind me 
of all the ways I am never enough

this all feels unfinished, like the 
lesson is always just out of my reach
I'm a pattern trapped in a wash and fold
cast away when I'm too dirty to be held close 
kept at a careful distance when my delicates
are too clean to be anything but preserved

if I can't say yes to myself, to my 
cravings and wantings and flaws 
how will I ever be ready to say no. 

Write a poem about sadness.

It's been 225 days, 
and the same amount 
of lonely nights. 

I fantasize about you,

while I ride him. 
flirt with her. 
send a teasing text to a stranger. 

I'm not proud, but I'm 
weirdly grateful for this
broken heart of mine. 

This new bleak world I now see
ironically gives me hope. 
There's a certain strength built
only by suffering. 
It affords me a distance 
putting the control of, well, everything
back in the palms of my hands. 

It's been 225 days, 
I fantasize about you, 
and this new bleak world I now see 
might have just been reality all along. 

Write a poem about the ocean.

He told me I gave 99% to those around me, 
but in that remaining 1% I reserved for those worthy, 
the depth of my humanity could be found. 
When he left I retreated to those black waters, 
lights only serving as traps 'cause a girl's gotta eat. 
He eventually found his way to the sun, 
swimming through strata as fast as he could. 
He said he loved scuba diving, but 
he loved the view not the danger.

~

A voice like honey, 
a mere shadow of 
my siren call. 
I'll look at you
with stars in my eyes. 

I'm a trap, a promise,
a threat, a bluff. 
You'll follow my lure
through dark blue nights
across dive bars and
cheap guitars and 
conversations about the past. 

When you wake up
you'll drown in an ocean
of oxytocin and endorphins. 
Let it roll through you
in tides because babe...

I'll have you high 
from the pressure found 
in my depths. 
And my lows will reveal 
unknown wonders and 
horrors alike. 

I hope to see you on the road.

Time sought for release, but
Context prevailed in battle. 

For her, magic flowed through 
her fingertips - it's amazing 
what can be accomplished 
when one is endlessly inspired.

Her heart haunted by a vision 
of what could be in another lifetime, 
she acknowledged the impossible. 
You become intimate with dreams 
when you chase them for too long. 

Aligned with Time, she hoped 
one day her her wounds may heal. 
He found her achilles, snapped it
with soothing words, misleading caresses.
Limping, she carried on, searched for
the stars and the moon, prayed for
solace in lonely nights, wished for 
another opportunity to be witnessed 
just once more in this life.