My brave and bottled-up darling,
You have to stir the pot up
If you want some change.
 
They can take away your patience,
They can take away your good name,
But they can’t take away your pen and paper.
 
They can try to paint you in lead and grime,
But they can’t take away your golden tongue.
They can’t take away your golden core.
 
They’ll try to come into your home,
Without wiping their soiled claws on your doormat,
Try to halt your broadcast,
But they can’t take away that spark in your mind.
 
If you want the kettle to boil,
You have to put it on some hot fire first.
You already have waited and waited,
It’s time to let the kettle whistle
If you want some change.
 
Say what you want to say,
Don’t fear the torches they’ll hold as they come for you.
Say what you need to say,
The air is thirsting for your words.
 
Speak—and write everything.
Write your thoughts,
Make peace with your philosophy,
Discuss, dissect, debate.
Make some change—
Engage, elaborate, explain.
 
A soft soul isn’t made for a world so harsh,
A nervous heart isn’t ready for battle,
But the time has come.

I asked:
“What’s this between us?”
He answered:
“Nothing.”
 
He grabbed me by the back of my neck
And kissed me hard.
 
He was right.
There was nothing between us—
Nothing between our lips—
Not even air.

He touched me so gently I wanted to cry.
 
It was like shaking off twisting vines.
I could stand up again,
But he touched me so gently I could not even gasp
And I hated him so much at that moment.
 
Why did he not touch me so gently before
But does so now as I am pushing my boat from his dock?
 
Letting him go was like a massive exhale
That made room in my lungs—
To breathe in clean air,
Cleansing my throat of smoke

HER: Do you love me? Yes or no.
 
HIM: It’s more complicated than that.
 
HER: Just answer me so I can let you go.
 
HIM: I’m not going to answer you.
 
HER: Why?
 
HIM: Because I can’t have you letting me go.
 
HER: I hate you.
 
HIM: I love you.

“You and me. It’s written in the stars,”
You told me the night we met
While you twirled me in your arms
And our laughter tangled as our legs twisted.
 
But darling don’t know you know—
The reason why we are written in the stars,
The only heartbreaking reason,
Is because we are star-crossed.

We know this story all too well—
Boy leaves Small Town Girl to chase his dreams.
 
“It’ll work” he tells her,
But for the story to be interesting: it won’t work
(But just for a bit)
 
Boy has a thirst for fine things in life.
He reads up to impress—
Himself? Small Town Girl?
Or his roommate’s posh friend
Whose red hot lipstick is a shade he’s never seen before?
(You’d rather call it the perfect hue of crimson)
 
Wine and dine:
Rule of the game is to pick somewhere new
But not too new so he’ll have reviews to read beforehand.
He can imagine her perfectly in front of him:
Shy smile he’d never seen on her lips,
Maybe a bubblegum pink that night.
 
But first…
“I don’t think it’ll work” he calls Small Town Girl,
Because there’s stardust in his eyes.
 
Count of hearts he breaks: 1
 
He learns that you don’t like roses as he would have imagined.
You’re more of a peony girl,
Because there’s nothing you hate more than a cliche.
 
When you live in a world that moves a million miles a minute,
Nice boys don’t come easy.
But Boy is he nice!
He blushes too easily,
Pronounces things wrong,
And has a deep chuckle when he grins at your jokes.
You relax and decide to go with petal pink.
The perfect hue of crimson puts fear in men’s blood,
And you want him to see underneath the brave front
(And underneath the silk and lace)
 
(Wait…
If she’s Small Town Girl,
Does that make him your Small Town Boy?
Then who are you?)
 
Boy shows up five minutes early—
You’re genuinely surprised because men are always late,
And you rush to grab the Lalique vase from the cupboard
To hold his magenta peonies
(You forgot to put on diamond earrings to match your outfit,
But neither you nor Boy notice)
 
He’s oh so down-to-earth,
He makes you laugh until your stomach hurts,
He has a slight accent that you’ll never wash out from your ears,
And oh god—
He’s breathtaking and gives your heart a jump start
(They’d never show this on the movie screen)
 
But then…
“I don’t think it’ll work” he whispers to you,
Because there’s nostalgia in his eyes
(And there are tears in yours.
Cue scene switch to Small Town Girl rushing into Boy’s arms.
You’re never seen on screen again,
But how would people know:
You’ve switch back to the perfect hue of crimson?)
 
You’re like a special treat—
A newly discovered vintage bottle of wine—
But it’s always going to be her:
The familiar drink that’ll make Boy sleep easy every single night.
 
Count of hearts he breaks: 2

You come into my mind like a knife entering flesh. Every memory is a stab.

What was your last love like?
 
Wistful—to the point where I can’t sigh without my lungs remembering how it felt to breathe from his lips.

In my head there’s another universe where we are together and you didn’t go left and I didn’t go right—and we walked side by side, hand in hand, straight towards the light.