I miss your warmthI miss the way yourSkin brushes against my arms.My chin resting in the crook of your neckAs I rest against you.We delicately swayIn the breezeUntil the bell ringsAnd lunch break ends.
Flay off my false skin.You can't see why I like to concealand highlight my face(Or is it that you refuse to listen)And continue to belittle me.It isn't like anyone, especially me, would care.But I dare you to try to kill my aplombAttempt to slice away my confidenceMy confidence to appear cythereanMy confidence to enjoy my appearanceMy confidence to exist in your denialMy confidence to rebel against you merely by existingMy confidence to kill, no, impale the black hearts of brutesLike you.You can try and you will failFor I am a growing thorn, not a thorn, a spear
Baby, I'm phosphophyllite to youYou only think I'm pretty when I break.The tears running down my face are your nectar.I'm the geode and you're the hammerYou break me apart and admire your own strength.Baby, you can cleave me apart andI'll cleave myself together.So if you'll need to be cruel,Do it to me.I can put myself back togetherNo matter how many times I breakApart for you
She steps out, slowlyFlowing a languid riverHer dark hairUntiedFlows into the nightAs her skirt—Black and ankle-length—Follows her viscous graceShe delicatelysmiles at me—Or at herself—At someoneHer eyes—GlazedLike a fishmonger's displays—Stare
When I behold a forest spreadWith silken trees upon thy head;And when I see that other dressOf flowers set in comeliness;When I behold another graceIn the ascent of curious lace,Which, like a pinnacle, doth shewThe top, and the top-gallant too;Then, when I see thy tresses boundInto an oval, square, or round,And knit in knots far more than I.Can tell by tongue, or True-love tie;Next, when those lawny films I seePlay with a wild civility;And all those airy silks to flow,
Sweet serene sky-like flower,Haste to adorn her bower;From thy long cloudy bedShoot forth thy damask head!New-startled blush of Flora,The grief of pale Aurora,Who will contest no more,Haste, haste to strew her floor!Vermilion ball that's givenFrom lip to lip in heaven,Love's couch's coverlet,Haste, haste to make her bed!Dear offspring of pleased VenusAnd jolly plump Silenus,Haste, haste to deck the hairOf the only sweetly fair!