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i love the early morning rasp of his voice the birthmarks and burn scars midsummer skin i love the sticky rash of lust the way a heart ticks until it implodes the sugar soaked kisses i do not love the way he smacks my face the way he pushes too hard the ways he does not love me kindly i do not love my swollen cheeks my bruised hips my blood i do not love my blood i love the touch of innocence in the morning before i have upset him when we bask in apologies and ignorance of all our yesterday's when the whispers are not wasps nests and he grins like greek god when everything is beautiful except i say stop and he doesn't listen. everything is beautiful except blood vessels clawing at the surface. everything is beautiful except trying to scream when you've forgotten how to breathe "please don't" puts him at ease "don't touch me" doesn't mean anything "i love you" tosses the dice i lick arsenic off collarbone slice the tongue, gargle blood say goodnight like it's the last could be the last he cracks my bones between boulders between fists there is no difference between matchboxes and kisses seduction and resistance him and his father i feel like the guy that plays the flute calls the snakes. he slithers around my body like intimidation like he's sizing up the prey like all those secrets in the wasps nest have been beaten out swarming buzzing around my head like he makes me call him "honey" because he knows i'm drowning in it and the one stinger i have would change nothing who strikes first dies first and i'm feeling courageous feeling like a death wish he paints me in blacks and blues. violent hues. the canvas colored in control is quite the masterpiece and she's tired of being sculpted tired of being the victim at his hands cold and cracked. i do not love the aching of nostalgia the dry empty palms the fear of hearing his footsteps in the middle of the night but i love the fresh faced stranger in the mirror the skin that does not rip itself off the comfort in silence in safety i love sunsets that look like honey and breathing in knowing i'm not drowning anymore saying "you will never be a real man" and knowing knowing i have stung him

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

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Date: 12/19/2018 6:03:00 PM
I am new to this site. I've looked at a lot of the poets. Your writing is real. Very moving. Keep writing.
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