StaticWaves

The pain consumes me for several days my body prepares itself against my will a natural function, my very biology. Flushed, tender skin, ripened and ready, somehow I feel more alive despite the stabbing as I become a woman all over again in the flow of the ruby red that expels.

Embarrassed in my flesh, my shame became my shroud draped myself from head to toe while summer’s heat rained down. Legs like porcelain, my knees stained freckled where the sun had kissed, awkward girl at a dramatic stage inventing  problems she must fix. Sweat that blossomed, a late flower, suffocating in a senseless bid, weed my garden of imperfection and in the meantime hide my skin.

I kissed a girl when I was fourteen who gave me butterflies whose soft lips blurred the lines and made my sin so sweet. I loved a woman when I was twenty-one who gave me courage whose soft lips blurred the lines and made my truth so sweet.

I became a woman when I owned my truth, not when you touched me.

I found you in her box of memories amongst the faded flowers, the Lord’s Prayer. Evidence of your existence left in scribbles a father’s love immortalized on paper. It was then that I knew your name and you wanted mine to be Amanda, though not enough to stay.  

I crawled into this world from the amniotic paradise wrought for me by the passion of two children playing at being adults. I was an anchor in her sea, the murderer of her dreams, but she bestowed this life upon me in spite of everything. She was my mother, the most beautiful woman in the world. The scent of the pressed powder that clung to her skin, the softness of her body, these were the elements of home, a sporadic home, moving in and moving out, seldom still. Her absences were a knife held to my throat, cold and solid, pressed just hard enough to draw blood. Why don’t you want me now when you wanted me then? She chose poisons and

The face in the mirror was my betrayer taunting, laughing, malicious reminder that I could never be the beautiful girl. Compare and contrast, I was your victim so many years spent analyzing the cost transforming myself by night like a werewolf. Smooth, shine, pluck, polish, remove, rectify Why can’t I be you, I cry to to the semi-gloss pages tears wrinkling the paper like my reddening flesh. Girls are never told that the contents of beauty these shining magazine pages falsify reality much like the storybooks that warped our ideas of love. Instead the ideal is held up, again and always higher as we struggle to achieve unattainable perfe

She… she’s a series of reactions Chemical beauty Incomparable The galaxy pales I… I am her satellite handcuffed in her orbit sweet surrender round and round

Dawn breaks across the horizon, its pink fingers caressing the sky, a golden glow illuminating the world, flooding the night with a glimpse of another chapter in time. Sinking like a ship out at sea, the heavens are a palette of rose. Shades of night envelop the day, erasing the evidence of light. The darkness has won until dawn.