apples to oranges

i will be the first to admit that I know nothing of your plight,
never bothered trying to be the girl next door, and settled for
being tom-boy-skinned-knees-muddied-skirts
until i grew up and realized your irises were my mirror
so i contented myself with granny-smith dreams
my forbearers would tell me about true love

this morning, I woke up and ran my hand
over the craters carved into your face like karst topography;
caressed the pits and bumps underneath my fingertips
so I could read your expressions better
because I was so unused to the variation in texture
and all my life had been up until you was smooth

your acerbic nature eats through your smile
like calcium deposits and I am tired of biting into your neck
to find an un-ripened tartness because your skin curls up
the way I am entangled around your finger
like dried remnants of good intentions
peeled away until all I can taste
is the cloying aftermath of your nutrition,
but you leave bitter acridness in the back of my throat,
much like the way I am sure I would choke on
your affectations disguised as affection
and that confused me, because all I wanted
was to hide secret sugar pockets in your cheeks
the way that fujis surprise you because I understand
that it is difficult to see past my skin, even though
I keep trying to convince you that while my sweetness
is exceedingly rare, but it is there

but i am fucking sick of your apocryphal properties,
or perhaps i am just tired of buying from alchemists
in an attempt to heal virus flowing through my veins
that gnaws at the inside of my veins the same way
I find myself falling for you

because I am done with your jaundiced complexion
bordering on ruddy-red-delicious cheeks;

finished with being
second-best
silver-lining
fairy-tale
gilded-age-pyrite-dreams
that sparkle in pupils reflecting back at me
proclaiming that all you want is to be loved,
but it's unfair to compare apples to oranges

acid tongue + silver lining

i find myself
attempting to tuck
the corners of your life
under the mattress neatly,

as if i could somehow
fold up your problems
and that my harried actions
could lay good intentions perfectly
over your sleeping body

because all i wish to be
is that silver outlining
traced so delicately
in the corners of your smile

but my argent-based soul
shines pyrite when reflected
in your pupils

and i have worn it thin
attempting to heal scars
even cobblers couldn't patch up

stream of consciousness

if i look hard enough into your starry-eyed irises,
i can see the reflection of lightning fast reflexes
aimed at defending yourself from women like me,
but baby, my entire existence has been
stainless steel you spent the past eternity slowly
gnawing through with your willpower, and i have
lost the strength to battle against supernova pupils
that warn me of impending storm clouds, so baby,
please hold me 'til the maelstrom is over because
i am sick of weathering the monsoon alone, and I
have taught myself to be afraid of waking up to see
another person's soul lying next to me, as if your aura
could give away my location to my apprehensions.

prying open my third eye

>I grew up hiding bibles
in my closet instead of
skeletons; danced with
incorporeal whispers
about saviors
around grassy fields
instead of finding my soul
stuck in between the bricks
encasing the elementary

and I had moments
where I (came out to watch you play)
with your shadow vanishing
towards the hills as your
legs carried you further
than our dreams
ever could

but today,
we shared split lips
and eskimo kisses
while the butterflies
in my stomach
searched for the way
back to summertime

so I searched your (bright-
blue-shimmering) aura
that sparkled in the
reflection of my existence
like the way your pupils
contract around my
heart-skips-a-beat
whenever you're around me
while I find myself (chasing
the tail of dogma)

fender bender

he left

the cloying
putridness
of intentions
paving the road
to perdition

in the reflection
of your gaze;

painted the
outer rims
of your irises
with stainless intentions

and wound up your nerves
with nickel-plated steel

but baby, I ain't here
to bend your will-power
a half-step up towards
my manipulative nature

because I have learned
that even broken people
don't want each other

and my strings
have rusted over
heart-sick
guitar chords
with time

good old fashioned loverboy

darlin', I have moments
where your optimism
makes me want to
swear to you
that your storybook ending
is out there, but I must confess
that I find no magic in bohemians,
and I can capture no rapture
from lyrics that flow like Mercury
because all I have left to be certain about
are steely-grey-brown eyes intertwined
that don't know what to say
in response to hope
that rocks a body
like cliched guitar chords
but I promise waiting
for peace pulled through
a broken sigh exhaled outwards
the same way carcinogens
surrounded our auras
during smoke breaks
is all we can do

once in a blue moon

I have moments
when I pass by your window
that the arches remind me
of how you curled my back
around your forearm

and this isn't to say
that you leave
the same ache in my heart
as the way that writing you
love letters on a stranger's sheets
causes my thighs to be a little too
love-sick-heart-sore
the next morning

because I have given up
on feigning normalcy
when lying in bed
next to your soul

and sometimes,
when the sweat kaleidoscope
blurs your face together
and shines in just the right light

I can see optimism presented
in a flash-bang-in-the-pan
sparkle in irises pool blue
and so clouded over by
grey blue-moons

but baby,
I tire of astrological metaphors
that you scrawled with muddy eyes
looking back into in my black-hole pupils
because it has made me yearn to change
our predicted future

slow dancing with fate

I learned what hope tasted like
the first time I two-stepped with myself;
stepped out on the hardwood floor
of emotional vulnerability and kept time
with my heart palpitations

And still, I have days where
I recount the way my soul flew
over grassy knolls that bit into my knees;
hills that hid between brick buildings
encasing tradition

so I stepped forward;
marshaled together my will
to be vulnerable

and fell for you

christian

I have moments where
my fingertips breathe out your name
onto loose-leaf sheets so loudly

I can hear the letters bleeding
into the paper like a synesthetic high

but our synthetic passions
ring false on lye-stained soapboxes
I can't wash myself clean of

because your saccharine
leaves a cloying aftertaste
and though artificial comfort
is all my heart can care to buy

I have long since paid my dues
to your existence

southern romance

I have moments where I hope
if I listen to country songs long enough
its processed pop-banjo twang can convince me
that I want to fall in love with your image
because I have walked the dirt roads
of your eyes until my feet blistered;
sifted mud seeping between my toes
until I discovered that your
grey-blue-moon-stones sparkle
like lost gemstones in the rough
that got tossed around one too many times
in my callused hands because I
have forgotten how to be gentle
but baby, I am learning
how to feel safe in your arms
and I swear someday I will figure out
how to kiss away the bruises I cause

---

I find myself whispering pleas(e)
of salvation when you arch my spine
until I bend so far backwards
I can steal a glimpse of heaven

and there is a divine immaculateness
in the way your callused hands
carefully cradle my body as you
lift me upwards towards redemption

because frankly, I love that you don't
even bother to bestow
a canonical look of guilt
when I gaze into
the impending storms
of your irises

so I will sit through the thunder
until I can kiss the rain dancing on my lips
and baby, we can watch the sun rise together
afterwards