you tell me that you hate your eyes because they are the color of dirt
yet i want nothing more than to kiss your lips
like how your eyelashes softly kiss your cheeks every time you blink
have you seen your irises in the sun?
oh how they compliment your smile so well baby
chestnut is just the color of hidden gold
and they remind me of the warmth of coffee made by a lover
and how sand feels between your toes
and the strength of Mother Nature in a forest of oak
and everything lovely and lovelier
so don't even blink my darling,
because planets can be born in a second
and i don't want to miss that flicker of life in your gaze
all i want is your eyes open;
out here in outerspace
yet whenever i catch your gaze in this butterfly net
you are always fleeting
are these pulses always beating? (or was it only mine?)
the timing was never right perhaps for
death only has volunteers,
of lovers who gave up their hearts, like
whenever winter came i wanted to give you spring
i was willing to go through the depths and walk among the dead
to make a deal with the underworld’s king
to let spring’s queen come back to the world of the living
to make the sunflowers grow for you,
you gave me life, my darling
but those thorns around your heart never left did they?
sitting amongst a meadow of forget-me-nots
i try to forget you a lot
but forgetting the butterfly kisses that were sweeter
than any honeysuckle
is harder than remembering the garden our love grew
or the stars that God placed in the sky that night
(or the fact that the stars she placed in your eyes
were brighter than any of the ones
that i gave you)
and now there are dead flowers in my shredder
the lingering scent of daisies
and the bitter taste of you in my cheek
You deny it. You deny it regardless of the fact that we both know you are lying; you deny the fact that you knew her at all. You deny that it was because of you that she shaved her head when you slapped her in the face with a farewell. She wanted to forget the times when you would pull her hair and force her to do what she pleaded you not to. Any stream of conscious that was of you or related to you was cut out of her life, unlike the cuts along her arms and thighs. These cuts, the ones you never noticed; these cuts were her way of fighting. Her body was a battlefield. Black and blue on her forearms and on her back from previous wars, red coming up to the surface of where you had just hit her. But oh she was fine, you thought. It turns out that makeup and longsleeves and pants can do wonders. Showers were a time for thinking, a time for washing away the guilt. The water never really did the job, however. Like how crying never really made her feel better.
Her hair is now in ringlets, falling softly upon her back like rose petals upon glass. A beautiful pink, it’s long and she loves it and she has not cut it since the day she forgot about you. It’s a reminder of how far she’s come. Porcelain skin kissed by the sun, her scars are fading now. When a child came up and asked her what they were, she murmured to herself, they are scars from when i was a corpse walking alive. But she looked into their eyes with a smile as she took their hand in hers and said, it’s the markings of a warrior. And a warrior she was. She was not ashamed, upon her body her dress rustled against her legs when she walked, and gone were the days of turtlenecks in the summer. A warrior, if they fight long enough after all, lives to become a survivor.
She is a being of light. You deny it, but we both know that you were a being of darkness. Darkness may try to exhume any flame, yet regardless the light will continue to burn no matter how faint.
She is brighter now. She is lovely, she is ethereal, she is full of love. You claim you don’t know her. Yet when the wind whispers oh so slightly against your eardrum, you recognize it when you hear her name.