i.
between adjectives and history, math and PE, school never taught us that colors lie.
welcome to your new education.

ii.
yellow is a happy color.
in school they teach us about vincent van gogh, and how he ate yellow paint because he thought if he had a happy color in his veins, he would be happy, too. the paper-girls who exercise fake distress think that’s romantic. it’s not.

iii.
secretly i wonder if i washed out all my tears and replaced them with acrylic, if i opened up my rib cage instead of my broken bleeding heart they would be only yellow.

iv.
yellow is the color of broth in aphabet soup, you make for me when i am sick. today i’m not sick, i just couldn’t bear to go to school- feel the stares of all the golden children on the back of my neck.
you are nowhere to be found, there is just the yellow broth beneath the letters in my soup. i can feel it staring up at me and now i really do feel sick.
there is only yellow.

v.
yellow is the color of the record you play when you don’t want to talk. you turn it up so loud that i can feel it in my bones. i go to my room and shut the door just a bit too hard, where yellow sunbeams light up my room like lasers.

vi.
i am conflicted.
yellow lights up the world and sunshine lights up my body. i used to think that’s romantic. it’s not. yellow is supposed to be a happy color. the broth in my soup and the record you put on and vincent van gogh play in my head like mice when the cats away.

vii.
i wonder i can falsify to prying eyes that i love sunshine because i am happy.
i wonder if i can prove to my dying mind that i love yellow because it is a cure?

vii.
i wish inside of insides, i was full of sunshine.

i.
sometimes i think a lot about what i do not understand

ii.
you’re at the top of the list.

iii.
maybe i like that, the idea of trying to figure you out. i used to solve rubix cubes over and over. i wasn’t fast, i took my time, trying to understand where all the pieces would go to make it whole again.
you’re like a broken rubix cubes- impossible to solve, but people try nonetheless.

iv.
i’m not going to pretend i didn’t hope that i could finally figure you out, simplify  your complexity as easily as arthur slid the sword from the stone.

v.
maybe it’s not “i do not understand.” maybe what i should say is “i don’t know.” does anyone know, really? can anyone solve the puzzle that is you?

vi.
maybe i don’t want them too.

vi.
i guess all there’s left to say now is sorry.

you’ve got it all wrong, momma.
flaunting your grief,
striping that poor sycamore down to a ghost off tree.
we revel in skeletons,
and find the clean lines
that divide
what is right and what is wrong.
sensous and economical,
the dead sing us songs i am learning to answer.
you would never understand the appeal
of power.
am i a hypothetical to you?
bow to me, forgotten godesss.
broken girls find solace in persephone.
i’m learning new words like pomegranate,
a word you can **** on.
pom- thick, round, bittersweet bulge.
e- the one you slide over to get to gran,
a slow swelling, cancer or the rose.
finally granate, stones stopping your heart cold.
pomegranate, a word you spit out, seeds sticking to your teeth,. don’t you see i never could have stayed?
you only want gods who water your crops, who let you bow beneath their thrones, if you do so quietly.
i want my own throne, and i want to be loud. i want to disscus the fulitlity of existence, the burden of immortality.
i want a life like my dearest pomegranates,
bittersweet and complex.
in short, i left for a reason.
i am not your daughter anymore.

You were the moon,
I was the astronaut.
I waited years
to taste you.
I finally reached you
but I could only touch you
between a jump and another.

she
           wanted         to        

                        wander,    

               but               could
                                        not             even
fit               through    


                wonderlands door

and
she                            began
                        to                 wonder

                 if          impossible           things


really were
                                  impossible.