dead sea

you say you

love the water but I am

tired of crying you

oceans so you can

stay in love

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on the validity of validation

what is it you

see when you look at

me that makes me

less to you?

a tone of skin

unlike yours, curves you are not

used to, a culture you do not

know, a life you have not

seen, less

money, more

dreams?

what is it you

see that makes my

humanity

obsolete?

to write you

You ask me to write about you.

To write about you, not write you the way you throw wishes I would paint you back and forth between your lips.

I tell you I do not know to write about because one can only paint not paint about and writing is just painting pictures with words anyhow.

You don’t see the difference but to me it is huge, filling up the space between us in its enormity and I tell you to give me a moment.

I tell you to let me write you like sunshine, cascading light, tender hands that teach the world to bloom.

Let me write you like a magic act, predictable in your constancy, always drawing out awe from an audience that is as dark inside as the night.

I plead you to let me write you the way you hold me, soft marmalade skin, your heart whispering love songs to the rhythm of the morning.

It is late now and I weave my fingers between yours like patchwork, promise that to write about you would make no sense at all.

uncertainty is a form of torture

I once professed

confusion my worst

enemy for the

 

manner in

which she ripped my heart in

shreds and spread them out in

the vacancies of my

chest but it

 

appears she

has decided upon a

new favorite form of

torture for all I can say

now is

 

there is a

ground and I cannot

feel it.