tapiocastars

Beautifully Real

“Real women have curves”
someone once told me.
But magazines say that
beauty comes in a size
zero dress, and before
I learned that this was not
the case, I thought it was impossible
to exist beautifully if I couldn’t
fit my 3D hips onto a single
page of a Victoria Secret
advertisement.

Stay

Love someone who would
take a million falls for you,
but will not, because they
can find a better way out.

A way that includes the
both of you.

Settle down with someone
who will take the time to 
smooth out the ground before
building foundations of stone.

Even the strongest of rock
will crumble on uncertain earth.

Keep someone who can move
mountains in your glory, but
takes you to the top 
of them instead.

What is the highest mountain
if it will block all the sunshine?

Unable to Adapt

And she promised herself
that she would never 
change for anyone.

She planted her roots
into the ground and
between the rocks.

Come drought and
come storm she 
could not run,

even if it was her
own self she 
was hurting.

Die Red

Before I die, I’d
like to kiss someone
like the sun blushes
into the horizon.

Set the earth 
on fire like the
maple leaves do 
every fall.

Finish our burgundy 
wine until there is 
no more red, and my
blood turns blue.

There is Only Now

The past is the 
growing epitaph
of a dead piece of
the present.

The future is the
rest of the eternity
that is slowly being unfurled
moment by moment.

You can feel their
scars and sense 
their omens
but they are not there.

If you take refuge in
the now,
the space of
time I once thought
was so small,
you may find calmness.

For the present
has held the universe
in its embrace 
during the illusion
of the past all
the way through
the infinite gestation
of the future. 

Belief

His religion was truth.
No one has ever seen
truth in its entirety,
yet everyone could
agree it was out there.

They’ve seen its tracks
and heard its voices
and felt its hands,

and that was good 
enough for them.

They would nod
in agreement until
he replaced the 
word “truth” with
the word “God.”

He could pinpoint
the moment the
walls rose from
behind their eyes.

As soon as he 
personified truth,
they stopped 
listening.

A populace so
full of trust issues
that if something can
be named, 
it cannot be trusted.

XIX

Words are the
best murder weapons.

After they pierce
your ears, your mind
masochistically 
wraps itself around
all the sharp edges
and harsh tones.

The shrapnel takes
many years to 
remove, and the
wounds reopen 
with a touch of 
recollection.

The worst part is that
seeking help can be
seen as shameful.
They have hospitals
for bullet wounds.
They have empty rooms
for verbal scarring. 

I Know Otherwise

Failed expectations are
painful because it’s like
making room on your
shelf of memories:

sticking on the label
clearing off the dust
waiting for the delivery
man 

but he never shows up. 

Opening your mouth to 
take a bite, and closing
your teeth on your tongue.

((You know it’s self-inflicted
pain, idiot))

Mourning what could have
been –>

((what never was is always
the last to leave))

Watching what you almost
mistook for a memory
walk away.

It doesn’t creep soundlessly
out the back door like a real
memory;

it stays the night and 
turns to look at you one
more time as it makes
its way out.

It never quite existed 
but neither did those monsters
in your closet.

You still heard them
scratching at night.

Carry

You don’t have any kind of magic;
I carry the curse.

Can’t give you more power,
so I’ll just blame myself.

The thorn feels no pleasure 
when it punctures,

and it is the fault of my finger
for lingering too closely.

A different type of double-edged sword:
one side cuts me,
and the other cuts for you.

When There is No More

He was so reluctant
to show the rhythm 
of his heart because
that would be the 
last door she opens
before she finally leaves.

He would much rather
stall her with the façades
of his mind: the shadowed
words that made silhouettes
dance along the walls.

With the roundabout ways
of his hands that make
fire run through her veins
and knock the wind
from her lungs.

The rays of his heart
would be the last offering.
The final cornucopia,
the garden where all 
of him grows,

and when
she finally sees it, 

she will have to decide
if it is enough.