Screw falling in love. My heart itself is already in tangles. A web of nonsense and a drawful of necklace chains that I will never have the patience to separate. I am sounds mixed with different medium of light. Six thousand eight hundred dialects of flesh that I don't have enough time to translate into words. This is dictionary of skin is unreadable and Latin is dead because of what we never had the balls to tell each other.
I am swearing off of love because everything inside me is oil and vinegar and I no longer believe it's normally correct to fall in love with the intent of both destroying and rebuilding another human being. I am the forest fire and an ocean, and my favorite color is the same colour that hurts me most.
I don't want your sentimentality. Quit looking at me. Looking at intending to melt me. We all know it's working. We all know what this heart is capable of unfolding.
I am not strong as my words pretend to be. Not a quiet as these caesuras promises. This heart is a patch work quilt of people that leave different shades of blue inside me.
The drowning. Your skies.
The outline of a blue jay on porcelain plate.
For now, I am closing off these bones for someone who will know how to trace me without me ever telling them what I look like.
Screw falling in love. It's too much to handle when I'm already having difficulties of breathing and keeping track of my heartbeats and making sure that limbs are doing what they need to be doing.
But,
men are so beautiful.
But,
this heart is so
fragile.
I am vulnerability that the surus has to offer me and it a certain light it's light and it's impossible for me to pull you towards me with the intent of kissing very life out of you.
What I'm trying to say is that you're not allowed in. What I'm trying to say is that all I want is to open myself up and have you. Rearrange me, untangle the gold chains of my heart, love me for every shade of blue that I have hidden in the silent spaces between parentheses.
I have sworn off falling in love,
but I know that in Febuary morning,
outside, in the pale of frost Febuary.
All I want to hold another person's hand, warm and gloved, in their coat's pocket.