He was a magician
and I was enchanted by the words he could speak.
Rivers, flowing in my skin,
bounding along my ripples and stones,
his touch is a refuge.
Forests raise on the back of my neck with his whisper,
mountain ranges break in my throat
the rolling hills are my tongue.
There are hurricanes in my fingers,
the entire earth is inside my chest,
the infinity of space is my greatest love.
You are my industry.
You reek of civilization
Of homestead and engines,
Of a thousand manmade stars,
all at the flick of a finger.
Your skyscrapers rise,
the white picket fences,
the nine to fives,
the quickening of my heart
matches the quickening of your head:
the fast pace of a thousand places to go and people to see,
all wrapped up in your thoughts,
It’s no wonder you can’t sleep.
Your blood curdles with oil, and you go,
leaving unyielding black tendrils,
latching onto everything you touch.
You found your plot of land,
and seeing as you are human,
didn’t hesitate to hold on tight,
This is mine.
Replace my roots for yours,
stretching into the sky.
You blot out the horizon
until I can’t even see the stars.
“You don’t get to tell someone their feelings are wrong.”
Isn’t that what you told me?
When I opened my mouth to explain
why it terrifies me
that you built a house for two
but only you can get inside?
That you stir up my wind,
level the space between my hills and valleys,
wreck the foundations of who I found myself to be?
If my self-esteem were a coffin
your words are the nails.
You look at my wild, and admire it.
But only from behind a window.
You marvel at the wolf song,
but from behind closed doors.
“come inside, it’s safer in here”.
But how can it be safe
when the wolves howling are my ambitions?
When there are lions in my words,
and snakes in my brain.
How is it safe
if the bitter wind is my regret,
the sting of salt in your eyes?
When my ocean is literally
eating away at your carbon steel heart?
You mistake love for rust.
How is it safe to have a hurricane in your living room?