i grew up in a cold place.
i don't mean temperature; i mean
that my father would send me outside in the woods to sleep
when i said something "bad."
how my parents would throw things, screaming
about money. always money.
i was not raised gentle; i was raised
to rip roses given to me out of their hands with my teeth
and feel its thorns obliterate my gums, cranberry colored fangs bared
i was raised to protect myself. to build shelter
out of other people's bones and skin.
i was raised selfish - AKA to survive, out there in the woods.
to have a bibliography with only my name in it
when i eventually clawed my way to success.
i'm older now.
i learned that not everyone will love me in a contradictory manner.
not all love is a contract.
and yet i still find myself with those thorns in my teeth,
raking them along the inside of your mouth when you kiss me.
i don't mean to.
the hurt look in your eyes
as you continue to kiss me
breaks me in two; shattered shards
scattered on the ground
i am a constellation.
like Carl Sagan said; i am made of star stuff.
why don't you stop? i am hurting you
and there i go, trying to blame someone else,
even if it is neither of us' fault.
and i do not mean to hurt you.
i'm sorry for:
- the razors embedded in my fingertips lacerating your face when i only wished to touch it
- the blood in my mouth splattering into your eyes when i smile
- anything i may be that is less than what you deserve.
let me rip and tear the seeds and thorns
from roses long chewed and swallowed
out of my gums
and sew a garden for you
full of them
in a cottage next to the woods.
like you've always wanted.
you're everything i've always wanted.
YOU ARE READING
the archives - a poetry portfolio
PoetryA light buzzing distracts you from whatever you're doing. There is an old, weathered monitor on a table next to you. You could have sworn that it had just *appeared* out of thin air. Out of curiosity, you stare at it for a moment. The screen flicke...
