Pretty Fictional

20 year-old Florida native.
Student of Sociology.
Slave to creativity. Feminist. Cat-lover. Musician. Utterly enchanted by the macabre and unusual. Poet. Lyricist. Read me out loud.

I just wish at this point
You’d tell me why sometimes
You feel the need to look at me.
Especially like that, especially here.

5 of 5, April’s Musings: A thousand kisses deep

It makes my stomach turn, 500 kisses deep.
When you touch me like that I can’t focus.
Won’t you stop and not dash my hopes
With the tip of your tongue down my throat?

It makes my eyes burn, 600 kisses deep.
Though it isn’t a wonder you don’t trust me.
You probably shouldn’t, since I’d much rather
Be wrapped up with him in the woods tonight.
It’s simple really, he doesn’t make me squirm.

It makes my hands shake, 700 kisses deep.
You don’t have a right to be angry, and it’s okay.
I don’t have a right to be happy, and he doesn’t
Have the right to give me baubles, especially when
He knows I will most definitely wear them around you.

It makes my body ache, 800 kisses deep.
I wake up in the middle of the night wanting him.
You’ll roll over if I don’t stay quiet, and I’m sorry,
But the tears just keep coming; invite me all you want,
And I’ll still say I’m not going, I’m finally alone with him.

It makes my heart break, 900 kisses deep.
And I desperately want to be everything,  but—
I’m still nothing compared to what you wanted.
And in the beginning, I’d told myself I was more.
But indefinitely I remember I’m always less in the end.

You made me sick, 1000 kisses deep.
It was all I could do to end it, so why then.
Why do I feel so fucking guilty all the time?
Why can’t I sleep some nights, and others.
Why do I desire the one thing that could have destroyed us?



4 of 5, April’s Musings: Love through letters

Dear so and so, it’s hard for me to say.
But I never stopped thinking about you.
I put the pen away and opted for a book
Mr. Laurence made me remember us.
Our open innocence about what we were.
What we weren’t didn’t matter back then.
To this day I still get choked on some things.
Like how far away you are and what that means.
Things like touch are impossible, taste, smell,
But words. Your words slip down my throat
Like sweet honeyed tea, too sweet for me.
But I sip on and I slip on the best dress I have.
I hope you’ll appreciate the fact that I wrapped
This gift for you, that I took care to be true.
Will you be there before too late, or shall I wait?

Signed emphatically, loves labor lost.

1 of 3, April’s Musings: Tell a lie

I don’t hate her, not even a little.
Not even when she gets to know;
She even gets to see all of you,
Alone, uncompromised, safe, hers.
I will attempt to understand, and
Just maybe, if I can make myself,
I won’t have to hate her so much.  
Tell me, which one is the lie, and
I might be inclined to tell you the truth.

2 of 5, April’s Musings: I own my flesh

With every rip, it becomes harder.
Every stuck zipper, every uncomfortable,
Ugly rumble in fabric meant to be clingy.
Even when I don’t have anything to cling to
Not there, but over here, there’s plenty.
There are some days just like this. But others.
Oh— other days go something a little like
Dresses with perfect bodices, legs for days,
High heels that make my dancing graceful.
A flawless pinning of curls above my forehead.
The ability to fill out my favorite kind of bathing suit.
I own all of these things, and I own my very flesh.

1 0f 5, April’s Musings: I am a poet

I am pouring the inkwell over
On the pages of my soul.
I’m too young to understand,
But old enough to just get by.
You say that I’m the lucky one,
To remember every fine line.
At the corner of your eyes,
The secret things you know.
At the corners of your mouth,
The surprises you’d kiss and tell.
Don’t be shocked, I swear I’m kind.
Wholly understated, unprepared,
And unforgiving as I write.
Your various secrets into the light.

When I scroll through our texts

I’m reminded of how it’s easy

To say I love you, but it’s much

Much harder to actually show it.

Every time you inadvertently

Refer to you and me as we

I want to kiss you on the mouth.

Dancers

I don’t know how to dance with you.
I remember trying, of course, but I also
Remember lying to myself when I realized
It’s you I’ve always wanted.

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