I Would Shrink My Stature If I Could, But Never My Love For You
My eyes cry out for you
with tongues of love—
Flaming tongues of love.
Of loving love.
Loving love that could release this tortured soul from the twisting branches of black pain with flowering buds of slightly more black sorrow that have forced themselves down my throat, past my scream box and around my heart.
The sticky-out bits poke
at my heart.
It HURTS!
My heart.
My giant fucking heart.
But you can't see my eyes, soulful girl from second period European History.
No, you can't see my wild, tongue-filled, flaming eyes.
You only see the LIE-filled eyes of your boyfriend.
Your cruel-eyed boyfriend.
Your boyfriend who can never understand you like I could if you lost yourself in the solace of my
arms
and mouth
and
slippery crevasses.
If you whispered your
wideeyedinnocentdirtyscaredbravefatbutskinnydiddaddytouchme?
secrets into my ear.
Your rapist-boyfriend.
You cannot see my eyes.
You cannot see my eyes!
Look up over your head, goddamnit!
LOOK UP!
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2 comments:
Oh, BRAV-OH, angsty Paul-that-could-have-been-and-most-likely-was. Bravo.
If you had submitted this to The Quill, the high school literary magazine that I helped edit, we would have been forced to accept it, just to keep the even worse stuff from getting in.
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