Scars Deep

She says she
loves a sleeveful
of tattoos and I?
I’m currently
newborn bare,
an unadulterated canvas to ink.
But these scars
pigment my truths
more permanently. 

For instance,
I drew lessons
from when hurricane Andrew
drew blood from my knee.
Taught me
that severed fence poles
and knee caps
will never agree.
Taught my Dad and sister
that stories of nails through feet
should be reserved for the Gospel;
their story of redemption
was sponsored by:
tetanus shots.
You know
the type that leaves you with scars
for no reason? 😉😉

For instance,
the deja vu twins
that freeze tagged my forearm
from when I told the nurse
the oldest twin
is proof positive for TB.
She looked at me
in disbelief;
ordered me another round of shots
and I looked at her in
disbelief like:
“Oh boo boo, what is you doin?”
She taught me
to stand by your no
the first time;
that if someone
is going to stain you with a memory
make sure the price
isn’t set to your regret. 

For instance,
when I opened the door,
allowed you entrance
to my vulnerabilities,
permitted you to touch
everything
knowing good and well
you were never planning to buy,
it shouldn’t have come to me as a surprise
when I watched you fumble
with my emotions.
Your I love yous
always sounded jittery.
My name,
never felt safe
on your lips.
My love,
unwisely trusted your hands
to handle with care
the parts of me that
would’ve never broken. 

I may not be inked
with anything meaningful,
but trust when I say
I’m scarred where it matters,
in a place where memories of you
could never be effaced…

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Only Human

She has a switchblade
for a tongue on left days;
converts it into a
substitute for creamer
on right days
both
served ripe without reserve.

She’s been cursed
with a heart to love deeply
those who can’t;
blessed
to forgive deeper
those who won’t.

She’s been dressed
in more distress
than she can rehearse
how to heal in front of you.

She’s smiling
while her soul
continues to limp
on crutches.
Her ribcage
couldn’t protect her heart
from feeling so empty,
so exposed,
so vulnerable to trust
foreign hands not to fold
under the pressure
of a genuine friendship.

It’s not that she’s mean,
or sour,
nor any of its synonyms
for that matter but,
sometimes,
she too bleeds.
Sometimes,
she chooses to show her calluses
from trying so hard
to gain your acceptance,
your attention,
your love.

Sometimes,
she’s more human
than hero.
Sometimes,
salvation is masked
in surrender.
Maybe she too
forgets how to fly

Edit Me Into…

Underline me.
Stencil the image you’ve conjured
with your vulnerable imagination
of who you think I am;
that I may stand perpendicular
to the ground I’ve lost
and we’ve sought
together.

Map the constellation of my essence.
Magnetize me to your sextant
and trust that I’ll guide you,
past my too many
unsaid truths,
and these waterfalls
of hidden realities.

Crucify me to a constant,
if it makes your faith perpetual.
For I know your vessel’s broken,
but we can drift
into the abyss of the future,
seasick and clinging to life’s ruins.

Splice me
into your genetic blueprint;
code me as recessive
and dominate my weaknesses
to mesh my faults
into your strengths,
our memories
to be in sync;
for we were always
One…

Senseless, I surrender

She told me that only women
have a sixth sense.
I laughed it off and denied;
for I must be a living contradiction.
“What do you have that I don’t?
What can you do that I won’t?
Is it that which enables you
to claim a sense more than I?”

These sockets hold
heaven’s gift to visibility,
aesthetics dependent;
for what is the spectrum
to a color-blind?
What is my love for your eyes,
if mine our naught?
Would you venture to claim sight,
and with it,
will away your beauty
from the eyes of your lover?
Claim it,
and blind will I behold you still,
unconditional will I love you,
always.

The Messiah
echoed footsteps
over my eardrum
and I was whispered a miracle –
something like a parable unraveled,
but the day I hear “I do…”
said from fearless lips of love divine,
well that day,
that’ll be something more than a miracle.
A parcel of heaven sliced,
bred solely to nourish our love.
But will you pawn my ears
to secure your pride too?
Then if silence be my lot,
my palms remain open,
even if only in hope
to feel the vibrato of your voice,
reverberate within the ripples
of my hands.

These fingertips,
have left their imprints upon your soul.
They have tugged teasingly,
caressed unceasingly,
given willingly,
pulled desperately,
and these arms have held you tenderly.
Will you rob me of my nerves now?
Intangible and nerveless will l be,
cursed as the serpent,
your essence remains upon my tongue,
unless you choose to claim my sense of scents also.

And now,
how can I taste you once more?
Your heated,
moistened,
salty skin ‘neath honey dipped moons,
deprive me of this also?
Take it.
For as we kissed,
your molars revealed their wisdom,
told me what I sensed
when you struck me senseless for the first time;
told me
that you would love me,
with the five avenues to your soul,
even if your sixth
told you otherwise.

They said you’d have to be brainless
to love someone like me;
so you told them
you’d love me insensibly crazy,
and you have.

But I only need one sense to see you,

hear you,

touch you,

smell you,

taste you.

So please,
claim all the senses you desire,
but please,
don’t break my heart.

Senseless, I surrender…