Everything turns all rose and blush when you slide a pair of glasses up the bridge of my nose. My annoyance and the cramp in my left asscheek is forgotten when I look from the dashed lines in the road to your technicolor face. You’re glowing and shifting against the seatbelt and the endless desert in the window behind you and I’ve never understood something so infuriatingly lovely.
[A part of The Color Series]
Honey red hair doesn’t splay over the down pillow with any particular beauty. Rather, it sticks to her eyelashes and catches the light snores from her nose. I stare at imperfect skin, enjoying the rosy patches in tandem with the mustard colored lace she fell asleep in. Everything feels like sunlight in the early morning, curled up in a windowsill while I wait for the beginning of something grand.
[A part of The Color Series]
Your peeling walls swim in my vision, black in a pool of something rough. The shift in imagination from child to adult from blue to black to nothing until we’re left staring at a milky and confusing here and now. The waves of tangled bedsheets pull me back to blue back to your spine back to this.
[A Part of The Color Series]
To touch and be touched, to see and be seen, to ache as the water allows me to. The water calls my name and I’m not sure which me she’s calling to. Palms and sand and heavy breathing beneath a plaid shirt. I have so much love to give but I don’t know how and I don’t share it with myself so I plunge my head beneath the ice and pray that someday I’ll know my name. Feeling and knowing and believing that I am one way, the way I was created to be. Storms and rough seas but I find a way to float. You touched me once and I bloomed and now I cannot breathe in my own skin.
[Written April 3rd, 2017]
She invited me up to her office once. It was an old, derelict building full of library smells and old coffee stains on desks. She was grading papers, so I sat at the empty desk and drew pictures of her without thinking too hard. When she asked what I was drawing, I felt my face flush and quickly snapped my sketchbook shut. She just shrugged and for once I was wishing my life was more like a film and she had taken it from me.
[Written December 15th, 2016]
Coloring and blurry memories of visiting the elves in the forest and riding bikes like horses until we could close our eyes on the big hill down the street, wind picking us up and taking us to a castle in the trees only to be dropped down between the cracks in the pavement. I remember seeing a large dog, a black wolf who kept me safe when the elves fled and I went beyond the property lines. Hiding in trees and hovels, living off of the stuff of legends.
[Written December 5th, 2016]
To be human is to create, to reach into the void of shared consciousness in order to blossom between each other. We share and bloom and shed our feathers until we’re bare. Creation breeds more creation in the making. Humans need to discover, make, mold, tend. Unchecked, you’ve left the garden in my throat overflowing with lush plants I cannot give a name to. Fill our lungs with new air, create a sound heretofore unknown to our newly made eyes.
[Written January 13th, 2017]