Every time you lie to me, I still know your truth. Every time you tell me you're not allowed to love me anymore, I can still hear the gospel behind your tongue. And, that is not my silent desperation; that is your desperate silence.
Sometimes it's the distance between us that keeps us close.
His mind had patterns, patterns that made puzzles, and puzzles that became mazes. Those mazes had color and became labyrinths— labyrinths that went crazy like jungles— and all he could trust me with was letting my fingers get lost in his curls. I played in there, for years trapped in his hair (that overthought and provoked lair)— the only thing between my thoughts and his: the air. But, he was smart not to trust me enough. He knew. The open air looked at him with slight eyes, issued him binds of lies, like library cards ...full of fiction. And I knew this, so how could I forget? Along the way, I turned into every other female he ever loved. It was his destiny that gave me permission to pull his hair again.
I need more protein in my poetry. I don't care if you cannot chew the fat of my words, my stomach is growling and it is because... I am starving.
When you fall in love for the last time, it becomes the first.
Once upon a time ago, you loved me in Photoshop. When I was monochromatic, you gave me texture. You went through my layer mask and hit......'Reveal All'. I remember when you stared at me like I was saturated; but, sometimes I don't remember that once upon a time ago without seeing your background image losing its magic lens.