Before Him

huigorou
artwork by Dahui Wang

Date a boy who doesn’t love you.

Date a boy whose eyes hold the stars and the moon, a boy whose hands are warm because they hold the sun. Date a boy who looks through you, searching something else in the crowd. Date a boy who makes you realize your own inconsequence, a boy who takes and takes until you are left with nothing but dusty text messages that once made your world spin. Date a boy whom you love, but doesn’t love you back.

Date a boy whom you don’t love. Continue reading “Before Him”

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Cocoon

First was the worst. A vampire sucking me dry until I was white, so that purple is blooming underneath my eyes, red leaking from my lips.

Money tree leaves rustle from in the kitchen, swathed in the beige shadow of the blinds. The sink is dripping. The solitary sound reverberates, beating into my bird bones so that I begin to crack.

Second was a jest. Dark summer eyes and calloused hands that felt rough when they brushed against mine.

The entire city freezes. The people look up to the sky, and the chatter in my brain is replaced by their wistful howls that surround me like a hymn. It grows louder and louder and my teeth start to grit, muscle memory prompting me to smile painfully because that was all I’ve ever known how to do.

Carolina Rodríguez Fuenmayor
Artwork by Carolina Rodríguez Fuenmayor

Third is you, now, pulling me against your golden chest.

My heart, stilled, begins to swell. My tongue starts to buzz with the taste of every particle that is colored by your pulse against my cheeks.

Like a cocoon you envelop me, your soft light collapsing on me, and I want to stay here forever, with your breathing as my melody. My forehead rests in the crook of your neck, the hollow where your heartbeat cuts into the chatter filling my confused head.

Your heartbeat shields me, and my cracks begin to shrink.

Like a cocoon you envelop me, your soft light collapsing on me, and I want to stay here forever, with your breathing as my melody. [Click To Tweet!]

pride nasha
Artwork by pride_nyasha

Your arms are pink, hot when they wrap around my waist and pull me in closer. I am tipped over into a sea of warmth that purifies me as your hands curl over my head, twisting tendrils of my hair between your fingers as my eyes open and capture your dozing face into the webs of my memory. I breathe in the particles you exhale, and I let it settle into me like dust just as your body goes slack with heavy sleep.

Your silhouette rises and falls, like a mountain bending to the wind, and I, the raven circling above it, slicing into the cold air, besotting the sky.

Closing my eyes again, I let all the colors swirl into non-existence. The world falls silent, and all that exists is you and me, in limbo, forever.

First was the worst, second was a jest. Third holds me close to him, and I let real love, finally, manifest.

Paradise

When I left, I was given the task of deciding what my heaven should look like.

I would walk into heaven and decide it was green. Heaven would be lush with the creations that had fallen from His fingers. Paradise would be blooming, juices dripping from petals that sparkled when they caught the white sunlight. Heaven would be buzzing, whizzing through time and space. Golden hour brings silver showers, so that I am immersed in the natural artistry that He has created for His children.

maria ive 1
Artwork by Maria Uve

I would immerse myself in heaven and decide it was blue. The dance of the water would write messages in the shadows of the ripply sand, so that I can capture it, place it in a bottle, and set it adrift to the shores of the space I used to occupy when I was mortal. Schools of fish would scurry past, tokens of color amongst the coral reef that sways to the strong current enrapturing my heart. The weight of the ocean would feel like nothing on my shoulders, renewed through judgement, guided to the next world. A gigantic green turtle lets me rest my palm on her shell, a tiger shark pokes his head around the corner and swims through the schools of fish so that they part to reveal infinity, and I am pulled in as if I were flying.

I set my pencil down onto the pages of time, wishing to turn space into something beautiful. Now was the time to decide, once and for all, what my heaven would look like. [Click to Tweet!]

maria ive 2
Artwork by Maria Uve

I would fly into heaven and decide it was black. Shards of light would pierce through my eyelids, so that I open them with the strength to see. I would twirl dust and gas into a ball of light, and watch it explode into a million different pieces. My star would glow white hot, and I would let it swallow me whole. I would be resurrected, my body spread thin across the universe across a plane of existence I can only taste and feel. My star would be a beacon, a fire burning away at my edges until I am clean. My skin hisses, steam begins to rise, and I am placed like a puzzle piece back where I came from. From dust and ash, rocks and bones.

I ascended to heaven and decided it was mine. I took it and twisted it into my weapon of choice – a pencil. I held it poised, infused with the very dust, ash, rocks, and bones that made up my once physical body. I set my pencil down onto the pages of time, wishing to turn space into something beautiful. Now was the time to decide, once and for all, what my heaven would look like.

Without a single doubt I etched your name amongst the stars. Heaven was you all along.

A Jigsaw Puzzle

I struggle to take this apart and put it back together to create a picture that makes more sense for fear of ruining what I have already arranged. Two years ago a hurricane ripped me off the wall, out of my pristine plastic wrapping, and I was left scrambled on the floor. I struggle to understand why I didn’t at least glue my pieces to each other.

Let’s take a better look at me.

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Gif by Audrey DeBruine for North by Northwestern

Here in one hand I hold a puzzle piece. In it, I can see my mothers fingers, outstretched to touch mine, still pink and stringy from being in the womb for too long before I grip hers like my new life depended on it. My eyes open for the first time.

In the other hand, I hold another piece where I can see the corner of his smile, the smile that I came home to after getting fired from a job I hated anyway, the smile I cried to like it was the first day I was born. His smile, however, stayed constant, the only constance I had left.

With wet eyes I let the pieces fall. Everything that fits in between them must be too varied, I fear it’s not all the same puzzle. Did I mix up boxes of different lives together by accident? Is this a trick puzzle, a 3D puzzle of Dracula? Or maybe this is a different game altogether. A game of monopoly, perhaps? Poker? Hungry Hungry Hippos?

I never knew I would be so mismatched. People talk about everything falling together perfectly, like a bubble being blown into existence by accident and flying up to be swallowed by a neon cyan sky. All I seem to have is a toddler’s take on a masterpiece, horrid and painful and juicy and colorful and blurry. None of it fits together, and it certainly cannot be framed – not in its entirety, at least.

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from x

My knees throb from kneeling on the ground for too long, but I let my fingers trail across the mess, the low light making it all heap into a giant dark mass I could never differentiate for its parts.

This is the sort of jigsaw you don’t put together, but rather just appreciate for its individual pieces, good and bad, rough and smooth. Though the idea might be a little avant-garde, I make peace with the pieces nonetheless.

After all, at least I am a mess left over by a puzzle ravaged by a hurricane, and not, say, a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos.

Crappy Poetry

The mind is too beautiful, too phenomenal, and too much of an utter enigma to become a cliche. The window to my mind is closed. The garden rooted in my amygdala has withered, the neurons unconcerned with typical metaphorical ideas. I don’t think, I just happen to exist (I swear I’m not trying to kiss Descartes’ ass), but I am not a slave to the precious aquarian trapped in my skull.

My brain, and therefore my mind (come at me, UofT Professor Vervaeke), is too complex, and I am tired of it becoming just a prefix for crappy poetry.

That being said… I feel like your mind and mine are one and a whole.

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I feel like you have held my mind in your own very two hands, and have tangibly tweaked with the dendrites and axons until they made drawbridges between me and the memory of your smile.

I feel like while my neurons are too lazy to spin serotonin into gold and relinquish too much control to the venus traps in my amygdala, they still get a rush just out of hearing your laugh.

I feel like while my precious dopamine has lost its way through my mesolimbic labyrinth and my old coping mechanisms have thus turned to dust, my whole brain still lights up when you say my name.

Image result for dopamine gif
don’t be fooled, this is actually brocolli

The mind is too beautiful, too phenomenal, and certainly too delicate to be handled like a cliche. My mind may have become black, cavities and caves of endless temptation, but you make it come to full potential again… but your mind is too singularly captivating to be rendered nothing more than a crutch to mine.

That being said…

You are too special just to become a prefix to my crappy poetry.

You Are The Sun, And I Am The Sea

The sun doesn’t cease its shining when it sets in the west. All it does is shine on somewhere else. Perhaps it throws light on the face of a child, breathing for the first time. Perhaps it shines on a patch of grass in a cemetery, smiling down on someone beyond this perceived dimension. Perhaps, still, it is simply brightening up a patch of the ocean, playing with the waves in mesmerizing synchronicity, ebbing, flowing.

You don’t stop existing when I turn the corner from your house. All you do is live on somewhere else. Perhaps you are taking a deep breath, about to dive into your next project, staring straight at a yellow light. Perhaps you are frowning, your forehead creasing in consideration of the bits and pieces of society that seem beyond advanced comprehension. Perhaps, still, you may simply be thinking of me. Existing with you in mesmerizing synchronicity. Ebbing. Flowing.

I put to you how strong I feel when your luminescence illuminates my complexion. The way I grip your wrist when I’m afraid of the worst – your neck, your hair. How patience is your constant companion, leaving the room with you for a while before bringing you back with a smile on your face. I put it all to you, how amazed I am when I see my own bemused expressions mirrored in yours.

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via x

The sun shines anyway, not in spite of, but because of the constant implosions taking place within it. It bursts with particles of light and heat and brilliance, sputtering everything we, you and I, need to live on. It’s spilling over, engulfing us in its light. All so that we can live and breathe and fight and play and be. All for the sake of mesmerizing synchronicity.

Ebbing.

Flowing.

A Good Day

“Today was a good day, wasn’t it?”

Yeah. Would it be cliche to draw comparison to heaven, to euphoria, to escape? Or would that be too privileged of an answer to give?

“Fuck political correctness and tell me how you feel.”

It was heaven. Euphoria. Escape. Blankets aren’t as warm without your body heat and sleep isn’t as resting unless I can feel your breath tickling my ear. Your arms are like the ribbon tying me together. Does that make me a present?

“I mean…”

Okay. Let’s settle for special.

“You are special.”

Special is a funny word. Your tone implies a euphemism, a disguise, snark I don’t understand. Perhaps my own insecurity acts as a megaphone, altering your voice onto a loud, invasive creature licking my neck.

“…Gross.”

Right? But I trust you. I trust you more than to think you mean it to be absolutely hilarious. I trust you to make such jabs at my insecurities, to make me laugh and forget about them all together. Am I special? Who cares!

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“Yeah! Fight the power!”

You are the power. I fight you the way a shadow fights with light. It’s a play fight, a game of hide and seek. I hide in plain sight because I want you to find me, to catch me, to tickle me until I’m breathless. I’m breathless around you. When we first met did you go to bed and think of me, like I did you? Was there a shiver hiking up your spine, slowly, debilitatingly, devastatingly, gorgeously? Hey, gorgeous.

“What?”

Continue reading “A Good Day”