Red

as I stick my hand into a newly opened bag of M&Ms, a part of me I like to pretend doesn’t exist hopes to pull out the color red.

I know that inside they’re all the same sweet, cheap chocolate

that made Mars Inc. rich,

but like a weed that leaves its roots behind, something so deeply lodged inside my mind my bare hands cannot pry it loose suggests, 

so quietly most of the time I forget to notice, 

that red is best,

better than any other color in the bag,

for no reason other than it happens to the uninvited guest that has so rudely imprinted itself into the back of my eye, glaring like the flag at a bullfight,

and I wonder why my tastebuds cheer the color red,

red of blood,of gunshot wounds in chocolate skin undeserved,

served by those charged to protect,

the red of anger aimed at every other color,

the scream of silence as the trigger is pulled

red,

the color splashed across the headlines of CNN

when yet another life has been slammed shut before the last page, because of the color of the cover,

red,

the red of my own lips, partedas my throat tries to open and let words pass,

but finds that it is too tight,

because underneath the red on the M&M is a white candy shell,

so easily crushed

between the teeth of a nation that feeds discrimination and makes it great again,

where cruelty trumps kindness,

and walls border more than our minds,

and red, the red that catches my eye when I hang my head in shame, painted onto my nails, a concoction of corrosive chemicals that harden when exposed to the light and air,

and red,the red that I have been infected with, the disease

coursing through my veins,  that seeps out when my wrists are sliced open.

Now, as I stare at the red M&M in my hand, sticky from being rubbed between my fingers,

I realize that maybe I’m only one person, but each ocean begins with a single drop. I let the red M&M fall to the floor, and watch it fade,

 then reach into the bag again. 

this time I close my eyes.  

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i guess this is why they call it a ‘break up’ because everything inside me feels like it’s shattering to pieces.

the weight of my great grandmother’s burden perches itself on my chest and blows insecurities onto my chin.

it resembles the weight of the sky on my shoulders; the eyes of everyone i’ve loved staring at me with something akin to disappointment.

the generational curses drowning me; they all want me to be perfect.

mirrors show my skin is blue, devoid of my scarlet dreams. my desires have become a river of longing; i drown every day.

they sent me to the bottom of the ocean with the stones they have sewn into the pockets of my coat long before i was even born - they say that’s how you learn to swim, little one; you just have to be too afraid to drown.

- generational trauma of women

i’m laying on his bed;
but all i can think about is the tiny bit
of wallpaper that is scraping off 
in the corner by your bedroom door.

he’s cradling my fingers;
but all i can think about is the time
we were talking about the universe and
you absent-mindedly started
tracing stars on my hand.

he’s nuzzling my neck;
but all i can think about is the beautiful mark
you left on my collarbone after we got drunk
at 3am and snuck onto your neighbour’s roof.

he’s caressing my cheek;
but all i can think about is the cold touch
of your fingers that night and
i knew that you had slipped into the darkness
again
and my thighs weren’t warm enough for you.

he’s kissing my lips;
but all i can think about is the curve on your upper lip 
and the time we made out for hours
and how you left a horrible taste in my mouth afterwards 
because you had gone through two packs of marlboro that day
and how i stayed
even though you gave me every reason to leave
and now i can’t be in bed with a beautiful boy 
who likes the way i speak
because all i can think about 
is how chapped you left me,
just like your lips.

-@heavyemptyheart

Let Her Explain

It feels like ice
And a claw
And chalk

And it feels like

Wearing a life vest 
But you don’t pull the string
Not yet
Because you’re still deciding
Between sharks
And fatal impact

It tastes like bile
It tastes like steel
It tastes like your father’s words

That nothing bad can ever happen to you

Not while he’s alive

And now you have to taste blood
Because he wasn’t there
And neither was anyone else

It smells like wet cement
It smells like sweat
It smells like
You can never again
wear that scent

It ruined sunsets
It ruined your favorite street
It ruined your kitchen
Your sister’s favorite song

But you’ll be damned

If you let it ruin the one place
You thought you’d always 
Belong

But didn’t it?

You throw away the sheets
Your mother bought you for Christmas
And think about the way your Dad
Used to tickle your neck

And you would laugh until you screamed

And now you just scream

It feels like a ghost story
Like you’re in the woods
Just a wolf licking his wounds

Wondering

If time will bring a day
You will no longer have to explain

What it feels like

Is this a love letter or a eulogy?

Why don’t I feel it anymore when other people’s eyes are upon me?

I used to experience desire so vividly

And now it’s

I’m too tired
I’m not in the mood
I guess I’m not feeling so good

And that’s on the good days

Because on the bad nights its

You’re too fat
No one wants to see that
I wouldn’t fuck you
Even if I had the chance

And I say these things to myself in an effort
To justify and understand his want
or lack thereof

How he can just fall asleep next to me
Whisper “goodnight baby”
and his dick isn’t pulsing or any wiser
Of the rhythm between my own thighs

He just lays there and doesn’t realize

And even if he did

He’d probably just shut his eyes.

once upon a summer, a boy once told me how he takes his bath in the morning.

“i do not start with the feet,” he said. i made a face and he laughed.

“it’s true. i do not work my way up. instead, i surprise myself. i start immediately with the head and i don’t think twice about it. otherwise, it would leave room for doubt. and doubt never gets me cleaned up and showered, does it? so every morning, whenever i take a bath, i just dive in…head first.”

i couldn’t believe it. a boy, at a summer review center, literally just told me how he takes his bath every morning. and there i was thinking he was a cosmic intervention. a revelation. an epiphany of sorts.

of course. it all makes sense now. it didn’t matter that he had no way of knowing if the water was excruciatingly cold or painfully hot. it didn’t matter that he had no idea whatever was going to happen next. it didn’t matter that he didn’t think well and twice about his choices. it never did. because that’s life. that’s the whole goddamn point. to take risks, to gamble, to jump at every first chance. to dive in…head first. and just hope for the best.

they call it reckless. i call it faith.

sometimes when it rains, i think of you
how i used to wrap my arms around you
but also, because it reminds me
of every teardrop i have shed for you

sometimes when it’s dark, i think of you
how i used to love touching you
but also, because it reminds me
of our dark days that are now behind me

and every time i wake up, i think of you
how i used to wake up next to you
but also, because i’m reminded
that you defiled me on this very same bed.

when the day had come,
i had all the strength
of the days you pushed me away.

and when the clock struck ten,
i had all the strength
of the nights i cried
of the times you lied
of the kisses more dead than alive
of the scars on both our skins
of the bruises that we covered
of the voices turned to screams
and the melody we sung together,
broken as it seems.

so when the day had come,
i had all the strength
of the days you pushed me away.

and when the clock struck ten,
i had all the strength
to let you know i’m walking away.

I want to list every bad thing about you. Every mistake, every imperfection, every regret. I want to caress your scars and rip them open. I want to hold your heart and pick out the parts that are wicked and evil and broken.

Because that would make it easier.

It would be easier to just say you hurt me, that’s why I’m walking away. Easier to think I had no choice, that’s why I’m refusing to stay. Easier to make it seem like we did this to ourselves, you and I. Easier than the truth. Easier than reality. Easier than breaking your heart when I tell you things didn’t fell apart.

I did.

I fell out.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

why do lovers blame love when things get hard?

when they’re the ones who believe in fate
but not in making things work.

and they’re the ones who let destiny take over
when they fail to decide for themselves

love did no wrong.
love made no mistakes.
for love is pure.

it’s the heart that isn’t.

if i lit a spark
down my throat
and let it
burn its way
through my veins,

if i set fire
to my hopes
and watch
the memory of us
burn up
in flames,

i would
catch fire
trying
to reach
for the ashes.

we ache so much

for someone

to fill our

empty spaces

losing sight

of what love is

and what love

is not.

i feed the hollow
inside my stomach
and in return
it leaves me alone
and empty
and aching;
shivering
at the edge of my bed
with my head on my knees
and a sting on my chest.

every day i rise
to the thought
of seeing him;
of another day
to wrap my arms
around his body
and keep him warm.

and every night i set
to the thought
of losing him;
to the harsh winds
and the cold breeze
and to the grey woman
his eyes are set upon.

but tomorrow i will rise again.

#3 | an astronomical trilogy

she rules over me;
my tides, my emotions
she holds me down
she pulls me over
and i oblige
i’m at her mercy
every time.

she stuck around me
but her tired eyes
are far away; at a distance
she’s stuck around me
forever
even when i know
she will never;
be mine.
not truly.

#2 | an astronomical trilogy

he can’t touch me
he’s scared
he’ll burn too bright
never knowing
i loved him
for the same reason
everyday.

he won’t touch me
he’s afraid
i’ll catch fire
never knowing
it’s the same fire
that keeps me alive
everyday.

#1 | an astronomical trilogy

when you asked me back
i thought this time
wecould be better

but what i failed to remember
was how we fell apart
in the first place.

and this time, was no different
we fell, and then again,
once more, we fell apart.

it was a love revived
just so it could die a final death
the second time around.

this is not the kind of love i need

and it’s not the kind of love i deserve

but it’s the only kind of love you can give

so i don’t mind if it hurts.

it’s walking the city streets
with my face blending into
a blur of a million passing faces.

it’s being lost in a sea
of art and talent
and never reaching the surface.

it’s looking up and realizing
i’m too far below the summit
of the highest skyscraper.

it’s being unremarkable,
and not being bad,
that i fear most in this life.