Attraction is lost on me.
Butterflies only inhabit my body from far away;
Up close, there is not enough beating room
For them to feel both free and unified.
From behind my fluttering eyelashes
I pretend I wear a veil of batting wings.
Except this veil feels more like armor amor cannot penetrate;
Except this armor has soft spots where it harbors its destruction;
Except this soft spot ripples in a way less reliable than lightning.
The butterfly effect is lost on me.
Somewhere, a butterfly gently beats its wings and a pillar collapses.
My eyelashes catch all of the dust.
A Eulogy For The Way We Used To Be
I have avoided writing this poem for so many eternities -
Trying to write about a wish that had not quite come true yet
felt too much like lying.
This is a poem about the word “trying”
And how it is all at once an adjective
And a verb;
How I tried for so long to continue to love the part of me
that still loved you so tightly;
tried to stop romanticizing nightfall –
as if even the moon didn’t have a darkside,
and the 1920’s didn’t end in depression.
Maybe we all look better with the lights on;
Less mess than matter,
Less room for memory transplants becoming permanence.
What we have has never been romance,
But I have romanticized us for so long I began to fall in love with a stone
And dress us in colors that remind me:
“holy” is something sacred that too can be lost.
You are all the stop signs I painted gold and sped through anyway;
We never learned the value of slowing down.
“Live fast, burn out early”
the phoenix chants to the sky
as it rises from the ashes of our uneasy love.
The love that was always tipping the scales and breaking
Outwardly, we remained syrup-still and sticky
with the sweat it takes To tame a geyser
that erupts almost routinely.
There was passion;
There were puzzles with one missing piece we struggled to find deep in each other;
At times we got lost and in-awe at the vastitude
of the labyrinths our minds could produce;
There were nights lying on the floor when your hair
was labyrinth enough
and I never wanted to come up for air;
nights when I felt us changing between delicate car crashes –
our lips separate, even when colliding -
Bittersweet physicality we forbid ourselves from exploring.
We tried so hard in our trying times
to see ourselves as testimonials of growth
we could still visit frequently.
But now I am molting skin dripping in ideology of a past
I do not wish to burden myself with;
I have welcomed death, renamed it “rebirth”,
and it fits like a glove.
I am done
painting us in gold;
You are not my aureate idol.
I may or may not worship a God,
But I worshipped you
And humans are not meant to be altarpieces.
I loved you once, I love you now, I love you forever.
I will lay flowers on our tombstone in honor of how we once were-
to remind you of me and the way we used to be:
fractures in expectations we could not keep up with;
chains that finally learned the art
of setting things free.