things my mother taught me:
my skin is winterkin and my blood is thick with hard-earned brilliance; my bones are diamonds trapped in human form and my heritage whispers to me every night when the sky turns graphite gray.
the things she failed to tell me:
your throat will clog with your own darkness and you will choke on your own power and you will die at the hand of a sunlit goddess the shape of your heart. she carries your death tucked beneath her blouse and that will be the only time you will allow someone to hold your life in their hands. and you will give it to her willingly just like everything else; just like the moon eventually steps aside to let the sun shine. her light will stay with you until the very end and you will thank her with blood-stained lips for she will teach you the meaning of true love, how it claws and rips at you like a hawk digging into the soft flesh of your galloping heart. love, my mother failed to tell me, is warm fingers and liquid sunlight; it’s stubborn fists and naked cheeks and hair the color of snow and tears.
too bad, i think, that it’s just one dying breath in the space of eternity.
stay in the shadows where it’s safe / aleksander
Ten days ago I missed you.
I cried and cried and prayed you’d call me.
I told myself I’d never be happy without you.
Five days ago you called.
You got mad for no reason and reminded me of all of the reasons we didn’t work.
You stomped my broken heart into the dust and then told me we’re friends again.
Today I can’t stand you.
You’re on my mind so much for all the bad reasons.
I can’t stand anything you do, the things I use to think were cute and quirky are just plain annoying now.
Everytime I run into you I resist the urge to lash out at you and tell you how annoying you are and how i’m so much better without you.
But if I hate you so much,
Why are you still on my mind?