It tastes like the last piece of chocolate
inside my mouth,
and I’m bored with wasting time
pretending to savor dull things.
I should hide my shine for you.
Appease your forever-melancholy
by scraping the diamonds from inside my own eyes.
You would gladly watch me rip the grateful words out, my tongue dead in my fist
except that I am new now,
and you – too bitter to pass my lips –
are free to fly away.
I can taste your strange dynamic on my tongue.
Bitter,
and it sours my stomach.
I don’t know what the flavor is between the two of you while I’m away,
but I want it out of my mouth.
Spit.
Mix your poison far away from me.
The antidote is in my eyes and hands and lips,
and there is not one reason I should be sick for you.
I am free.
I’m sure you had a logical reason
for quietly leaving me behind,
a justifiable synopsis
that made drifting away effortless.
I was confused and hurt,
like a wild animal almost tame
but not quite.
You were my balloon outside the carnival gate,
all those years ago.
So,
what if I breathe in
then out
and drop the string I held too long for you?
There is pleasure in that,
in being weightless for a while.
Dearest,
We live in different worlds,
you in a brain
and I in a heart.
So,
this is how I say
Goodbye.
My hair is its own color again,
and it is happy and soft for it.
My eyes still look green when I cry,
and I can appreciate that hue.
Sometimes my thoughts feel red and loud
while they beat against the inside of my head.
Luckily, my bones are tempered with enough silence
to contain the commotion.
So I smile and go along with whatever the world is saying.
I wonder if they ever hear the echoes
from beneath the insulation of my contented mane,
and if they do,
why don’t they say something?
I thought it was history,
but we met in a parking lot today.
I had a conversation with it,
and it went away.
It went like this:
I wish I had a thick rubber band
or a box cutter and some rubbing alcohol.
I could just bite myself
or pinch myself
or scrape my knuckles across some rough, satisfying surface
until I see blood,
but then I would hate myself
for submitting to this thing again.
Haven’t these years taught me something of the honor in vulnerability?
Aren’t I stronger than I was when I would hurt myself for feeling?
So I’ll give in and cry instead.
It’s not so bad
to let a few sneak past my lashes,
……is it?
It isn’t.
Lift your head, Child.
The gentle snow is falling lightly
while you gaze at dark things behind your eyes.
Don’t drag your feet, making them anchors for your misery,
letting them pull your sight away from today’s beauty.
It will never be the same again.
Winter clings to the house with eight walls,
illuminating a past you’ve forgotten
in order to fold in on yourself
like painful origami.
I want a lukewarm love.
I already wear scars from love like molten lava,
not safe for anyone but dragons,
and I am not so fierce or impenetrable.
I nearly lost fingers and toes
to the frigid affections of one man
who was too weak to melt for me,
and I am very much a mammal that hates to shiver.
I want a lukewarm love
to curl around me like a favorite blanket,
soft and perpetual, steady like a lullaby
that tells no tales of burns or frostbite,
because I am a creature of comfort
who no longer bleeds for fun.
Tunnel vision,
eyes locked on the prize
so shiny, new, perfect.
It will repair the parts of me
that I have torn,
with stitches made of flattery and smiles,
the thread woven
with all the things I think I need,
tight, so tight and safe in my skin.
Never mind the itch,
just let them stay
and become a new part of me,
until I find a reason again
to tear them out
and bleed my epiphany.
Whatever happened to your love,
that shiny promise you swore was true?
Whatever happened to your smile,
that thing you used to break me down?
Your kisses feel like lies against my mouth
with teeth and tongue to drive them deeper,
sliding the filth of your betrayal
into the delicate flesh of my lips
until they submit to the taste of it.
Whatever happened to your pride,
that monster who robbed me of mine?
She whispered, 
“Rest easy,”
and I woke in fear.
He’d slipped away
alongside my air.
She murmured,
“Take heed,”
and I yearned for sight.
He shamelessly fled
and so did the light.
Then the day pushed dawn upon my window,
urging light to my face.
Lids, sore from nightly terror, lifted regretfully
to find that time goes on,
having no regard for fear,
or selfish pain.
Maine Moon 