Sainted

I am bound to my words.

They often do not change– just act as great wings that can at any time go AWOL. Would you like to see me go AWOL?

Stop flying in circles and smooth straight lines, defying the turbulence we know exists… I can do this for you. I could plunge into this cliff face, kiss the stones and be reborn.

You understand perfection, and I understand flaws.

I exist in them, though I yearn to be perfect in your eyes.

And I yearn to be tongueless, so I don’t piss you off, make you look stupid… fuck things up.

I got a tendency to commit the last one like a felon fresh outta prison. Recommit the same crime, ‘til I get tired with the hope that it’s gonna end soon. That I’ll get off this fuckin’ rollercoaster and get on the ferris wheel.

Because I wanna be up high, just with more structure and more security.

And darlin’, you spun me right ‘round til I was tired.

I’m still tired, tied up like a balloon animal and growling like an injured wolf when white women try to help– because let’s all be real, white women ain’t afraid of shit.

I’m pawing at the dirt of your desire and ideologies learned before you. 

I ain’t never been pure white.

But I sure as hell ain’t bloodied and scared beyond the usual.

With this scientific figure– y’know, abnormal weight fluctuations,

stretchmarks, appearing and disappearing moles, floater and sinker

motivation, forest fire level fury and pretty brown eyes– I’d call myself a monster.

But I’m redeemable, and that is why I am so dearly loved. 

The girls, they love the feminine monster who’s scented like a male.

Cypress, oak, ocean currents.

Clawed hands and dominance in a stride that should know submission.

Ownership of my masculinity when I walk in, grab this men’s Dior

Sauvage, and hit all my pulse points…

Cocoa butter to sweeten my scent a bit.

I’m always one to be remembered… don’t you love it?

How I am what I wear– Vanilla, Oak, Bourbon… sweet, steady and strong.

A wish that gets lost to the inarticulate mind.

Fearful tongues and time lost to us.

I am a forest fire that many don’t survive.

Because if you singe me or my beloved’... I will burn you.

I speak myself in truest form whenever I enter a room because my

presence is sanctity, as is my love. 

From said Sanctity, I must pull my calmness.

My virtue can only stand alone for so long.

And I unraveled a while ago. I kissed my beloved on their face.

One time for every day, minute, hour, second I had missed them.

Though I am a ball of rage, less tactile but rage all the more… The temptation of relief entices me. But in relief there is suffering all the same.