Pink Moon

Sometimes I sit in the bath and let the steam roll over the crevice made by my hips jutting out and I lift fingers and toes so I can watch the steam spout from each extremity. Nostalgia for me is sitting in the car and sleeping while the sun kisses my lips with warm passion and laying down in chilled wind while tendrils of air reach out to me and flutter over the dips and curves of my body, stopping to dance on the back of my neck and then moving on. I wish I was the plastic bag in the parking lot of a walmart so I could dance with the wind anytime I want to, or maybe I just want to learn how to be weightless. There's no difference, right?

I look outside of my window at two in the morning and notice that there's a blackbird sitting on the sill so I put my hand to the window and watch the steam paint the window and whisper to her, "I wish I were a blackbird beauty, black and mysterious as night, like you" and she just stares right back with her beady little eyes and I want to hold her close to my chest even if she plunges her beak into my heart. He walked toward me with so much confidence I was afraid of what he could do with his black as ink skin and orange outlined eyes until I realized that it was all tattooed on and he had no excuse to not be confident with the way he colored his body. I gazed into his eyes and a million lies were forced into my mind with one prick of his sharp eyes. Refusing to make eye contact with you doesn't mean that I'm ashamed of my not-really-betraying you, it just means I think you don't deserve even that with what you've attempted to degrade me to. I watched your mouth fill with blood and I was horrified that I had even touched you, but at the same time proud that I had stood up for myself, and then even more horrified at that. Holly sings me under the current of sleep, and I'm tired of fighting it, so I let it happen with ease and grace that only a ballerina that's been subjected to a mental institution for no reason can emulate.

If I go liquid right now I think my heart would melt in the color of metallic gold, running in rivers down my ankles and dripping from my nose and ears and mouth while I sleep. Maybe I would even spout black dust from my eyelids, because we all know that some of who I am is black dust and not worthy of brilliant colors.

So what if I like to ride freight trains through the clouds while I dream?