she is organza and rough, nubbly raw silk
that tears your fingers
and bleeds you purple, sweet.


civilizations rise and fall
in the curve of her mouth.

I have to say I absolutely love art
The art which feeds from my inspirations
My inspirations which feed from the art based from my core obsession

Although I’m not sure if this is my real obsession

What if it’s an obsession within another?
Or an addiction concealed behind obsession?
How much more burdensome can these be
Will it grow past this point
The point where it’s all I love yet all I fear?

How am I supposed to say that I love my body?
How am I supposed to raise a normal self-esteem
And gain respect for myself When
I hate what I see?

And can you even say it’s wrong for me to hate it?
How is it wrong to hate what stares at me from the mirror?
How is it wrong to hate the smooth and pale skin?
The hairless exposure
The hint of bones in my figure

They say that is supposed to be beautiful don’t they?



I have to say I absolutely love what’s in my future
The future which feeds from my inspirations
My inspirations which feed from the future idea of my own self

Although I cannot be sure this will be the real me

What if this future is just a dream?
Or a wish concealed behind a dream?
How much more dangerous can these be?
Will it grow past this point?
This point where this future feeds off of me?

How am I supposed to say I don’t want this?
How am I supposed to hold my esteem at a healthy level
And also be so absorbed when
I know better than to do this

And how can I even think its wrong for me to hate it
How is it wrong to hate the ghost in my mirror?
How is it wrong to hate the sculpted and carved skin
The meatless disclosure
The manifested fissure

They say that is supposed to be beautiful don’t they?

Oh, Marcia,
I want your long blonde beauty
to be taught in high school,
so kids will learn that God
lives like music in the skin
and sounds like a sunshine harpsicord.
I want high school report cards
to look like this:

A man of twenty
Looks much younger
Waiting at the southside bus station in a
Suit and sneakers,
Hat strings
Dangling into his collar,
Anxious with his hands idle.

A man holding my bags and waist
On a subway train that
Shakes our bodies closer
Looks his age and older,
Holding us still.

I used to think you took my breath away,
then I realised I was just suffocated
In your lies.

I was in love with anatomy
the symmetry of my body
poised for flight,
the heights it would take
over parents, lovers, a keen
riding over truth and detail.
I thought growing up would be
this rising from everything
old and earthly,
not these faltering steps out the door
every day, then back again.

Down that path I fell
Into madness
As though a spell
Threw me into darkness
Wings sprouted from my back
This feeling this emptiness
I took flight as a bat
This craving for blood is senseless
From the brotherhood, to the dark gods we pray
We take flight together in search for our prey

Note nothing of why or how, enquire
no deeper than you need
into what set these veins on fire,
note simply that they bleed.

Spain fought before and fights again,
better no question why;
note churches burned and popes in pain
but not the men who die.

I'm sorry
I was wrong
Forgive me
I love you

One of these you said
and
clearly never meant