i have seen the heaven created in you—  
one they could not understand.  
and so they named it wrong,  
because they could not hold what they feared in their hand.  

you were fire, and i the very same.  
they said we’d burn the world down—  
but all we ever wanted was to be warm.  

her touch: psalm.  
her gaze: prayer.  
and still, they call it sin—  
as if holiness can’t wear soft skin and hold my hand.  

they could not understand  
that when she loves me,  
the sky listens more closely  
and the stars stay a little longer.  

her eyes, gently pulling me in—  
her gaze sweeping me beneath her tides  
as i pry to the surface  
to utter her sacred name.  

and even the breath feels borrowed,  
as if the universe conspired to see it through.  

how can my sin be love?  
oh, they would never understand.

You should know
My first choice would be
To send to you directly
You & YOU ALONE
If I’m an attention *****
It’s only for you
Yes, I desire your attention
Solely yours
If only you would let me love you

The most beautiful humans
struck by young fame
graced and haunted
by societies expectations.

Not too fat,
but not too skinny,
Not so flat
and always pretty.

Are they
mannequins in motion?
or people—
the industry doesn’t know

They throw
sticks and stones
turning them
to skin and bones

Their tears
could drown cities—
full of hunger
and pain—
but they stay silent.

Because they must.
“You must be seen,
and not heard.”
Just walk now,
and look pretty.

Goddesses bound by heels
bleeding behind blush ..
They are told to glow now
but one day they’ll burn

Once he’d adored her,
‘daddy’s little girl’
he had said
while he swung her around
then she perched on his shoulders.
He’d tell everybody
about his angel.

Until she hit thirteen,
the devil she became.
His grip tightened,
knuckles now white
‘Just like your mother’
‘Don’t you dare talk back’
He’d taught her how to flinch

Shown her
the cost of silence.
and whilst
Mothers forgive,
Wives excuse,
daughters remember-
because he always remembered

He raised a daddy’s girl
who won’t bow now
a girl unfettered she became
whilst he, fettered by his past
mistook fear for power
but now that’s gone
and so is he

Frozen beauty
breathtakingly
preserved in his
running watercolour,
rough charcoal,
faded photograph film,
A beauty forevermore-
stilled yet alive.

it’s sad to say
that nowadays
a smile
is more often
used
to hide depression
rather than
express
happiness.

i used to think
you just felt butterflies
for boys --
the funny,
immature,
class clowns.

but now,
i know:
the butterflies don't care
who makes them flutter.
it might be a boy.
it could also be
a girl with a
soft smile
and freckles.

and maybe
girls make them flutter
more than boys.
or maybe...
someone else does.
maybe no one does.

and that's okay.