Thursday, August 11, 2016

To all the men who didn't see me for what I was

Tornadoes never make good shelters - 
but he doesn't know that.

So he tries to find
refuge inside of me,

he tries to build a home
out of my bitten bones
with a porch swing
made of whatever
left-over love 
someone forgot to take back.

He wants me to be a safe place
to hide away 
from a troublesome summer,
but I am not made of light, 
and I am not made of beginnings -
everything about me
is a never-ending ending.

Tornadoes never make good shelters -
and he will soon know that. 

The skin never forgets

I'm wearing your fingerprints
and I know
I'll never be naked again.