The Unbearable Lightness of Being Happy

Silver ice covered this purple fig
Heart, commanded to bear fruit no
Longer many winters ago, when
Selfish appetites stripped it bare of life

You braved the violent winter that year
Spun away the bitter cobwebs, the
Frozen sheen I had adopted as skin
In lieu of budding fruit devoured by cold

Darling, I know that after the frost
I will bear fruit one day.

But when we curl up against the draft
And you drape your sanguine aura
Over my gnarled, frozen shoulders

I realize

You have become the warmest winter I know.

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The girl who cried Woolf

Fill your pockets with stone, each pebble
Measuring the exact weight your lungs
Are accustomed to carrying, for
Every breath is an exercise in recycling
ashes of your own internal entropy

Your mother and father’s fractured shadows
Your brother’s calloused hands on your thighs
Murky forms are the only clarity in amorphous
Hours, when you succumb to bitter convolutions
That harden as quivering multitudinous words

Like paroxysms of love that follow their absence.
They catch your breath when all you want is to
Prepare a dinner for your doting husband, but
When you’ve internalised all this external trauma
Even the certainty of his goodness cannot save you.

Virginia learned the hard way
If she cried woolf too many times
Her own mind stops believing. Then
The only one she trusts to carry her weight
Are waters that drown her with applause

So she would not be caught perpetually Between the Acts.

Drowning Fish in Bell Jars

Everyone has their own Bell Jar, said Sylvia (or did she) 
While hers roasted in an oven, incinerating
The Mad Girl’s Love Song, never sung again (I think I made you up inside my head) 

If god considered what he made in seven days (does he exist?)
He’d see an ocean of fish trapped in oxygen jars
Drowning and undrowning in unique suffering  (No one understands my pain) 

It was Pandora’s fault. She held the first jar
That birthed the jars trapping all, without even
The semblance of hope that they can shatter (Your pithos became our prison, we think)

Struggling beneath frosted glass, we fail to see
Other jars and other suffering, but if we simply
Strained beyond our own fragility, maybe this

Veneer will fall away to reveal we were never alone, and never need to be.
(But I am alone in my feelings, surely?)

Narcotic Night

I cup my ear on her skin, eavesdropping on
Her dallying soul; the chiaroscuro profile;
Wondering if
Its shape mirrors the brown Japan on her clavicle

She lines her eyes charcoal; blackened pits
Swallow me whole in her rhizome labyrinths
Watching me
Fall into her brown Japan as she falls into me.

Together, we awaken into the narcotic night.
The promise of a carnal symphony plays as
She laughs
Leaving imprints of her mercurial lips; bruised.

She pulls me through all my synapses; tender
I, hungry, dig into the filigree of her epidermis
We surrender
Even while knowing the same sides of a magnet

Repel.

Blood

I am afraid what my blood test will reveal.

Genetic foibles; mutated infractions of my ancestors
We spent so many generations hiding these secrets
Our artery walls have become rigid from compressing scarlet.

If you spill this scarlet, run tests through it
You will not only find the corrosion of your void
But a gestalt of all the loves we had to forget.

Do all my red blood cells resemble empty bowls
To transport life through plexus and peripheries
Or is your absence writing itself in my veins?

For some nights you possess my platelets
So I cannot help but Bleed to your vacuum
Like a switchless fountain, never ceasing.

All my organs have bled for you. Your memories
Pool and congeal as tumours over my anatomy
In my kidneys, brain, stomach, arteries

I fear if you move too close to my heart
You may arrest the only muscle I reserved for myself
So pierce my skin like a first heartbreak. Test me.

moonshine December

Drain the clear glass tonight, for
If you stare into the wall glass
You may catch glimpses of sadness in its shards.

Sadness, this raging compulsion
Fueled and doused by fiery liquid in shredded knuckles
The only antidote to bitter cold in your deep December.

You, adept at flinging stars
Into her eyes. She crumbles into herself
Unable to understand the only love language you know.

Pulp her like an orange until her innards
Resemble a shape you can read. Her juices are
Tender on your raw bones and may even remind you that

For you, December ends in ten days 
For her, every month is December.

Mermaids who truncated their tails

Mer-maid
[noun]
1. Half-human sea creature with the head and trunk of a woman and the tail of a fish
2. Mythical creatures noted for their beauty, exoticism and ability to seduce men.

My mother told me they found a mermaid
Wedged in a water pipe between the reservoir and the town.
Months of running water had washed her milky skin into
A translucent membrane, an open galaxy of her veins and bones
I forgot to ask her why one of our kind was there.

To you, we are less than human.
We are mythical beauties, we are sex symbols.
You prefer us with clam-shell bras and golden hair
Flowing over pinched waists and aquamarine eyes
Unable to accept that some of us have scaly heads.

The only one who made it into your folklore
Traded her voice for a pair of legs to win your love
Her greatest feat was metamorphosing into foam, for
We are remembered for our sacrifices and deaths;
Our beauty and loves, not for our humanity.

That is how you found her in the water pipe
For months she had been watering your plants,
Bathing your bodies, ingested into your systems
You drank her and used her without knowledge.
But that is how we are to you.

Lately I am not sure whether I have gills or lungs
Water and air have become equally difficult to inhale
My aveoli are drowning from oversaturation of fluids
My gills are suffocating from already filtered oxygen
So I float on surfaces, drowning and undrowning.

When will you use me too?