I have to
The sun sets, and
Only now do I realize
I am no longer a child.
I have to be an adult,
Which means I have to be my parents.
I have to hate the children I will have
and I have to have children, because
I have to fall in love, and then
Fall out of love,
But pretend I didn't.
I have to hate my job, my dreams, my life
Because I am no longer a child.
The sun sets, and the warm orange sky just tastes
I have returned to a patio of luxury.
A long drink with a dash of you,
An essence I missed forever.
I have returned to an atrium of cashmere.
A pleasant day spent travelling on you
To arrive at the crown of your hair.
I have returned to a room of gold.
How lovely to love someone named you,
A crescendo I heard long ago.
I was the storm in your garden
I was swift of birth, living with
(I never met someone I could
Call my dad.)
I was there, and I did not mean
To scare you.
I was rude to your Tulips, which
You raised there,
I was aware you raised them so
But it wasn't on purpose, that
I came, no.
I was tearing the petals of
I was restless, once I started
I was hardly seeing your face,
How you cried.
I was obsessed with my own ones,
I was giving to your garden
I was a small white cloud once, you
I was lying there like an idol.
The turquoise water reddened by your
Name. Ancient carving, poisonous
It was, a talisman on my hand.
I was lying there, without moving
Waiting for your bold arms to pick me
Up. My sleepless, opened eyes searching
For you, for you, conscientiously.
I was lying there, the cold water
Hypnotizing the aching depths of
My veins. My porcelain body, the
divine scream crucifying onto you.
I was lying there like an idol.
Goddesses mourned over me without
Stopping. Their freezing tears were washing
Away the fever-blood on my face.
I was laying there, where you were not,
Not even to dry up my tears, not
Holding my hand. – – – – –
– – – – – – – – –
Shall I compare you to Musical.ly stars?
Your profile says "i only live once, girl".
Because haters gonna hate even us,
Like, summer's expiration date's over.
I lost my sunglasses, it burns real hot,
Even my tan is not fake now; you ask
Where's my beach body in such trying times,
Well I had a cupcake or two (or twelve);
But look at you, having those curves just fine,
Not skinny, losing no pounds, just 'follow's,
Because you don't need filters for likes,
Created wonderful as are, God knows.
So long your mirror is not distorted,
So long you break those ceilings, you're OK.
Beautiful spinal cord, almost stunning. Designed and trademarked by an angel, maybe a muse, yes. Mix in more of that personal magic. Don't follow the recipe, Euterpe.
Form that body between your hands, isn't it like dough? Sweet, filled with sugar, no, it must be honey, use honey! That will never expire. Makes the skin smooth, too.
Choose the whitest set of teeth. Make it look like a diamond when flashing a smile. Charming. And fill the empty chambers of the heart. There is plenty of ingredients left.
Here: harm, love. Use both. These will merge in the brain and end in silence. Maybe it will hurt someone, but don't think about that. Add some ignorance, that'll do.
Perfect. Ready and complete. Looks more like a god, not a human being. Delight in what you made and let it run, ruin everything. It will stay true. True and lethal.
I am still recovering from the damage. Made itself an acquaintance, then a friend. Made me a believer—told you, a god. Scarred and convinced me it was my fault. It was, yes.
Then a stranger again. Left, got more pain to cause somewhere else. It was wrong to disobey the recipe, Euterpe. Serve in a million portions, it said. Not a single dose.
The apparition of faces in my life;
Unwanted connections coated in honey,
Meeting the standards I did not make.
Petals in a jar I have to fill with smiles,
But I'd rather put wet, black memories in it,
And then break the jar with a pounding honesty.
(After Ezra Pound's In a Station of the Metro)