lesbian poetry
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At age twelve,
I was afraid of myself.
I could not explain my soul,
or even recognize it,
because I was convinced it was evil.
A childhood bathed in fear and anxiety,
all in the name of holiness,
Weave flowers through your hair
while we sit in the garden.
To be alone with you,
not touching, never touching,
is a sublime torture,
an exercise in self-denial and gratification,
I wish you talked about me
the way you talk about him.
You float through thoughts of him
while I drown in thoughts of you.
Your aching lungs are full again
and you swear you found your breath
No one told me
that I would suffer
for the muse.
I wake up;
I think of her.
I write;
I think of her.
I eat, drink, sleep;
I think of her.
She never thinks of me.
You were never mine
but I wanted you.
I wanted with
every bruised limb of my body
every crack in my faulty brain
every beat of my cold heart.
I have never wanted anything more than you.
I cannot write if it's not about you.
I cannot think of anything but you.
I cannot sleep without dreaming of you.
I miss you.
The black void
yawns before me.
I go to it, arms open
I would carry the weight of the world
for you
if I could
like Atlas.
My spine is weak
and slumped under my own weight
but I promise
I won't let you down.
Muses are supposed to be:
soft, loving;
passionate, burning;
But you are:
lost, looking.
Your eyes are wide open,
always searching;
you see everything,
but find nothing.
The only dreams I remember
are the ones where we're together.
laughter
soft smiles
skin on skin
loose lips
clashing teeth
twisting tongues
hand in hand
You are a nuclear weapon
with the power to
decimate,
end the world,
end my world.
I would let you,
but I hope
we can make peace;
sign a treaty
to protect our hearts,
