Who Did It Better? 002

Who did it better? 002

Red Hair:

Clary Fairchild vs. America Singer vs. Amarantha  vs. Lucien Vanserra 

did you know the wind won’t take your name back anymore?

I didn’t know how I was going to begin this - did you know the wind won’t take your name back anymore? I’ve learned that stars aren’t the only things that fall when silence closes the door between your heart and another shoveled spring. I would ask your tears what shape they prefer when midnight kisses the snow, but I know how many miles it takes to write a chapter on sleep. I’ve heard forgiveness talking, can you hear light too? can you taste the paint of the years we spent looking out the same window, but never planted a hand in the ground? I dream about tomorrow like each comma doesn’t take a breath from my smile, like your eyes aren’t drying roses hanging promises upside down on the corner of every mirror. if I could pause your heart on every I love you knitted along my skin, I would have another photograph of us. today wasn’t great..but then there was you.

I do not want to go home yet please stay here with me or don't this silence is an oxymoron quiet and filling soft and jagged breathless deep breaths This lonely is heavy drawn hotel curtains is permanent blue-grey winter twilight is days spent staring at the constellations of my ceiling 

I do not want to go home yet I know life is beautiful for some people sometimes just not today stay here with me leave me alone with you go away please don't, stay please don't stay with me here here we are only what we are not what we imagine I am tired of imagining I want to be real with you

I want                                                                                                                 

not to go home 

yet

please

don't make me

Paola

Paola is tight brown curls and music note earrings. She is mismatched knee-high socks and thrift store band t-shirts.

Paola is sunshine smiles that crack you open and brown eyes that sew you back together. She is lilting music box laughter and the softest kind of surrender. She is a reminder that there is still good in this world, and that maybe I deserve some too. 

Paola has long since stopped asking me if I am okay but always makes sure I am before I leave. She is the embodiment of salvation, of mercy. She does not ask questions but instead makes the answer clear. She is from a softer place, a kinder era, yet belongs nowhere but here.

Paola is friends with father time and a favourite of lady fate. She is poetry's lover and muse. She is not the kind of girl who's presence demands to be written of. She is not the kind of girl that makes you feel something that compels you to take note of.

Instead, she is the kind of girl that poetry craves. That poetry unfurls itself for on the tip of every tongue who dare speak her name because Paola, is poetry material.

The funny thing about two artists being in love is that sometimes they both agree to look away from the fact that maybe they were both just in it for the inspiration.

The Universe's Sense of Humor

Mother, I am scared I cannot sleep There is a monster under my bed In the closet In my head It is all the things I have left unsaid It wears the most terrifying face of regret And whispers to most vile things Of everything that could have been It smells of sorrow and leaks puddles of tears Yet it never moves Like it is frozen in time Staring off at some distance thing Right through me As if it knows I am the one who has created it As though it knows I am the one who keeps it trapped here                                As though it can see all that would have been Just right there behind me But it never moves. This is what scares me most