"Do you like looking at the stars?"

I guess. Maybe.

Yes of course. I have ever since.

"What color is your favorite?"

Not quite sure. Rainbow??

Blue! Definitely blue.

"Do you like pizza?"

yeah.

Yes!  Yes!

You weren't aware
how I was never sure
til' you came but never cared
I've long been searching for a cure
For my uncertainty in life
doubts
insecurity
and cowardice
But you slashed all of those with a knife
And made them all worse
when I thought you had the antidote
never knew I read the wrong note

Now from my faves
they started to become my dislikes
from my midnight craves
now I start to say "yikes"

And that is the summary of your impact
throughout my life~

I no longer need a telescope or a planetarium to see the galaxy
I'll just look into your soul and the whole cosmos I could see

It’s not love until it hurts. My heart boils and with little bursts, it grows wings that crave flight. I’m leaving the fight, against what might, work and not work. I’m setting myself free for you, take me entirely, love me selfishly, need me excessively and consume my sanity. I don’t exist in time with you, I find myself looking…but for no escape, just looking – admiring, wondering, seeking more & more of what might be pain. The worthy ache. An anxiety I want to let in.

It’s not love until it hurts.

Your eyes remind me of the fireworks and the bright lights that illuminates New York City during the New Years. Your touch resemble the hypnic **** that occurs to me just as I’m about to sleep, making me jump. Your voice makes my blood rush to my head, making my face the color of the gore my nose sometimes bleed. Seeing you smile is like looking at that fiery star in the sky, what we often call the Sun. And every night, I fall into my bed; just like how I always fall for you every end of a day.

~
*can also be found at my blog; orionmaciah.co.vu

8/17/2014

Her name was Joy Jenny Jeffers,

known only really as Jenny.

I loved her for the way she’d sometimes

sit up in bed at four twenty three am,
the linen bunched all around her naked
 knees,


and she’d proudly and dully proclaim
to her imaginary friend
perched on the wall:

“Frankly, Frankie,
I don’t 
think this 
relationship

is going

anywhere”

I’d laugh, call her a doll

“Oh Joy Jenny Jeffers,
I love you too much,”

with a slap, call me Jenny, 

she’d plop back in the bed.

(This all happened
in the dark,
don't you remember..?)


I loved her for the way she would 
put wildflower honey
in her black coffee

and one time, hungover, she poured in
canola oil,

which she drank anyways,
Which would prompt a swift

“Oh Joy Jenny Jeffers,
I love you too much,”

as i drank my St. John’s tea

laced with Bacardi.

I loved her for the way she hated 
animals and music,

for the way she burned off a strand of
hair when curling it,

for the way she blinked when an eyelash brushed up against her iris.

I loved her for the way she said Frankly, Frankie, and I loved her the very same

when she started preforming old tricks
in front of new patrons,
when Frankly Frankie became

Frankly Johnnie or Frankly Helen,

I loved her all the same,

And in this i realised i didn’t love Joy Jenny Jeffers,

but I loved the way a certain woman 
got an eyelash out of her way,

fixed her earrings when they caught,
comforted sickly children halfheartedly,


and I loved the way a woman went about waking up at exactly four twenty three am every night or morning to say
"Frankly,
Frankie,

I don’t think this relationship

is going

anywhere.”

With the linen
all around
her knees.