If you woke up one morning
to find all the clothes in the world gone
Would you rummage around
the garbage cans for scraps
Or declare freedom
and never look back

Would the people who tailor money
cry over their loss
Or find something else to tailor
with nature so vast

Would the artists miss self-expression
painting instead on their skin
Or would it be something
they could now show from within

Would the rich and the elite
look the same as you and me
Or would they have limbs of porcelain
with a delicate quality

Would our descendants be baffled
when in history books, they read
about how we bound ourselves
like the Chinese bound their feet

If you woke up one morning
to find all the clothes in the world gone
Would you hide in the shadows
body bent in shame
Or strut down the street
wearing the weight of your name


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Midnight Promises

I know you’re trying.

I know you’re trying not to fall for me. And that worse, a part of you has already fallen and you’re trying not to acknowledge it.

I know you want to pretend that your lips ghosting over my neck don’t mean anything more. That every time my fingers find your thighs, your heart doesn’t react along with your crotch.

I know you’d rather just go back to the beginning and pick someone else, someone safe. Someone who wouldn’t have made you feel.

I know you’re scared. I know you’ve been through the depths and back and I know it’s not somewhere you ever want to go back again.

But I promise you: I’m trying too.

I promise you I’ve fallen for you, invariably and irrevocably.

I promise you that the before and the after mean as much to me as the in-between.

I promise you that I’m a danger at every turn–but at least that will be constant. I’ll make you feel alive again.

I promise you that if you ever have to go back there again, I won’t be the one sending you there…but I will be there with you every step of the way till I know you’re back whole again.

Let yourself fall for me and we can paint the skies with the love we make tonight.

The Spinning Wheel

She knew she’d found her new fascination
With her eyes wide and lilting,
She began her slow hard cruel assassination
And wove lies through him

He was ever willing,
Dutifully playing the part of the broken and damned
Thinking she was putting him back together,
While she was taking him apart with the other hand

Somewhere along the way, she fell in love
With her own macabre surgical mess
She pricked her finger on the spinning wheel,
Distracted by her own foolishness

With a slip of the tongue, she was exposed
Damned almost spells madness with just a little rearrangement
Into a slumber, she did fall
But the curse was from her prince, so this time it was permanent

Broken men.

I used to wonder why men struggled with memories of their past lovers even years later while women could forget in a day.

And then I realized, we fill our hearts by filling our stomachs, and expel the memories once the last tear has been shed.

But men slip into the darkness where their demons come out to play, every day and every night till it becomes a habit they don’t want to break.

And all I can do is wander through this dungeon, grasping each chain in a frenzy and hoping that at least this time, my key fits into someone’s lock and sets them free.

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The Last Love Letter

In the beginning, there was me, alone and unassuming. I don’t know if you know what that’s like. I was sitting in a dark room but never even thought to light a candle, because I’d never known light, and the dark was comfortable enough.

But then there was you. And suddenly, I knew light. Not just the faint glow of a candle, but the flicker of streetlights and the afternoon sun. A mystery who talked with her eyes and walked with her tongue.

Words were my passion and you were made of them, every inch of your skin a word waiting to be discovered and penned.

All you knew were sunrises and the wind flirting with your face, and that smile on your face in the car rides next to me. All I knew were car crashes and storms flirting with my fate, and the first breath I struggled to take every morning.

I wish I could say that I was like the rain, my pitter patter creeping up your dress and kissing your neck. But all I’m made of is shadows, snuffing your glow with every cigarette.

Every skin I touched before yours, a distant memory. Every skin I touched after, paper, paper that I wanted to fold up into cranes and set free.

If ever there was a moment when you wanted to leave your world and come to mine, it’s not because there’s anything special here, it’s because you’re just that kind.

I’m sorry my demons and your angels wouldn’t get along. But my demons are just fallen angels that won’t quit even when they’re wrong.

Like I said, in the beginning, there was me, alone and unassuming. In the end, I want there to be you, alone, but now happy.

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