Mar 27, 2014

From My Eyes to My Stomach

After Andrea Gibson

Sometimes my tears

are just love letters

flying first class kamikaze pilot

into a gravity of weight

I will never be able to touch.

I peer down and see what the heart

and brain tell me I cannot.

This nervous system is a nervous wreck

masquerading itself

wretched and terrifying.

You are a stunning eclipse

A heaviness my eyelashes

will never understand.

One my eyelids do.

They close heavy at the thought of you

not understanding your purpose.

There are beautiful things you were made for.

You allow me to see better.

To not judge character by first glance appearance.

To look into eyes and hands and hearts

To cry open and often.

I pass you in mirrors-

Awestruck and shaken

You dart by and do not let me exhale

in the girth of you.

You are the ghost in the funhouse

Passing through mirrors

as if they don't exist.

As if they are stretching the truth

and I am still trying to convince you

that you are the best thing I have ever looked at.

Have I not told you that you are the only body

I have ever seen from and everything

about yours is perfect?

Everything about you is battle scar and war torn

and I swear I tried my best to help

but all I could do was watch.

But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?

This at least is true.

Oh how I envy the hands

And that they have held you.

How I envy the legs

that must carry you.

How jealous am I of the blood

that passes through you

and the bones

that rest beneath you.

How painful it is to send

Each tear rolling off the cliff

of the chin.

Each drop is a love letter

the brain keeps telling me not to write.

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