Folded

“Am I still your favourite person?”

I asked, eyes wide,

Arms wrapped behind my back like folded

Linen laundry,

Egyptian cotton.

Can you unfold me and

tug at the frayed  edges until we forget they existed,

Kiss me clean.

“Am I still your favourite person?” I ask,

Or just forgotten

dirty

laundry.

Fight for Us

I always thought we’d find our way back together, somehow, sometime, someplace.                                                                                    And we did. But we were older and we had changed.

You had made me cold.

You left. You were always good at walking away.

You did not look back this time.

You should have told me that you wanted to fight.

NIC[ountry]

 

NIC- newly industrialised person

 

And the word boyfriend sounded foreign to me

As if it should be spoken from another girl’s lips.

When I did say it, it was through a gravel mouth

as though I was cursing your half smile and rough hands

that furrowed brow, how everything was a thought process to you. (Love cannot and should not be analysed, databased or calculated).

And as though I had not heard from you in one hundred years,

I Extricated Myself.

Your ice eyes and my tense body

parts

How quickly

something falls together

Is not how quickly it will fall apart.

Distance can drown your lungs as every gasp of air is filled with someone else’s laugh

maNIC

DNA

That water laugh

all light and salt,

Dead-ly.

End-ed.

Porcelain Beauty

It’s always hard when someone is in love with the idea of you

Like One false move

One wrong step

And your porcelain image will shatter in front of them,

Cracks will appear

To reveal your weaknesses and your downfalls and your past mistakes

And you will no longer be this out of reach

human

beauty

porn-star.

You are real and raw and you shit and you cry

And you are so imperfect

So wayward

So backwards in your flawlessness

It’s the artificial parts of you that they blood lust after

Not the thoughts, emotions and feelings that overwhelm

you

It scares them that a pretty little thing can feel so much

And so

Of course they run away

As fast as they can

With the hope that cracks do not appear

in the next porcelain beauty.

-Tina Rose