my now is not my forever

i. waking up

i hope the future
isn't waking up with a sore throat
in the morning.
maybe its a waiting kiss
of honeysuckle and laughter
only existing
because i cried today.

ii. the water of the womb

my stomach aches
of children that will never be.
sometimes i wish i was one of those
bloody mornings
my mom had when she was a teenager.

a woman is born
with all the eggs she will ever have
so really, i've never been apart from her.
i was closest to her
before i was me.

and now she's a mirror
of a face i've never shared,
pulling and pushing me away
because a daughter is something to own
not love.

the day will come when she
will not be my warden.
i broke free of her womb
bloodied and screaming
and escaping her house
will be no different.

iii. white padded walls

the walls have memories
reverberating every insult
and cracking
under the pressure.
will the air ever be
fresh and warm
in the face of the familial
cold war?
when do i get to paint my walls
any color i'd like
and decorate in greens and blues
instead of this sterile white?
it's like an insane asylum.
i am tied into too-sweet tones of voice
and obedience at break-neck speeds.
i have to promise to myself
i will break out.

iv. taking care of my car

he has these denim-blue eyes.
a pupil like oil streaks
blotted on his pockets from
working on his car.
windshield washer fluid
inches from my face.

the purr of his voice
is a hyperblue
subaru wrx
(his favorite).
his laugh is an engine
sputtering to start.
i'd learn the intricacies
of motor vehicles
to learn his heart.

after a long day
the cracks in his hands
are blackened with oil.
with calluses along his palms
and fingertips,
his touch is as soft as
fuzzy dice hanging by
the rearview mirror.

they say you only know the joys
of taking car of a car
once you have one.

v. "just because" flowers

he buys he flowers.
not all the time, but enough.
usually on wednesday nights,
they've become special.
people complain
that flowers don't last forever
so why get your girlfriend
something she'll have to throw away?

i see the red and white roses wilting
in the vase he bought
when we first got together
and i remember the sun setting on our first date.
i recall the wednesday nights
he surprised me with "just because" flowers.
i made him dinner and we enjoyed
with the flowers between us
on the dining room table.
they're all dead, but i enjoyed them.
the meal is gone, but we were satisfied.
he had to leave, but i savored our time.

is all happiness supposed to remain?
maybe we enjoy it
because we know it will fade.

vi. in the moment

our moments of solitude are brief.
there's barely any time
when eyes aren't on us
making sure we aren't doing the wrong thing.

oh but the rush,
a fragment in time we steal for ourselves.
as lip meets lip and our mouths
become one,
i don't know where my breath stops
in his lungs.
a second, a breath, fleeting until next.

vii. a letter to my dear

its a hard life, my dear.
it makes shoulders heavy
and air hard to breathe.
it puts lines on our faces
and whites in our hair.

the weight you give to me
is not too hard to bear,
for my shoulders were made
to cry on.
relax, my dear, let me hold you.

i'll make the air sweet for when
you can breathe again.
take a deep one for me, please.
let go of the worries in your chest,
let them be gone with the wind,
my dear.

our stress will stay as long as we let it
and sometimes we need it
to let us know we are in the present.
it won't leave until its served its purpose.
no one can get out of this hard life unscathed,
my dear. my darling, i know
its hard right now,
maybe for the next while, even,
but please know,
nothing lasts forever
not even this.
i am here with hands to hold you
and a voice to calm you,
even for a moment,
my dear.

viii. music is how we decorate time

i want more time to sing with you.
no matter what we do
it just feels like the needle
is skip skip skipping through
the old record player.

a song is such a fleeting thing
isn't it? its the only thing
i'm greedy for.
no matter how many i hear
i just want more.
it isn't satiating
to sing just one song.

distance makes
the heart grow melancholy.
when we are together,
it sings like a music box.
delicate, not knowing
how many times the screw was wound up.

my chest is a music box
and yours is a record player.
both delicate in our own ways
and born to sing.

ix. graveyards aren't so bad

are you bones by now?
dust in a coffin,
fertilizer in the dirt?
a moment turned into an impact
and i keep imagining
the shutter in the trolley.
i hope no one felt it.
my body is a mausoleum
for feelings too big for coffins.
the smaller the casket
the heavier it is, though.
the bible says
"from dust you are
and to dust you will return"
and i wish you were the dust
on my windowsill.
at least i could hold you on my finger.

x. ladybird (2017)

my mother's favorite insects
are ladybugs.
why can't one of them
float onto the tip of her nose
and grant her prosperity?
let my mom make a wish.
she would wish for her old life
before me and my dad
before my brothers and her first husband.
she could wear a red dress
with black polka dots
and smile like she never has before.
the world could have been kinder to her.
and i'm a part of that world.

its funny that the film that hurts me most
goes by almost the same name.
ladybirds and ladybugs
the same but ever so slightly different.
why are mothers so cruel to their daughters?
why do our moms never have good examples?
i want to watch it with her
but she's both ladybird and her mom
at the same time.

i never had an affinity for the color red
i much prefer its opposite: green.
but here i am, writing in red
and black flannel pajama pants.
squares, not circles.
the same, but just different enough.