her blue eyes
she sews on tight
every morning she gathers needle and thread
stitching in and out of the skin on her face
as blood splashes from her cheeks
onto the white marble counter top of the bathroom
making sure she misses her bones
and important veins
just to pretend
it doesn’t bother her
when the world
passes her words by
with grace
because her blue eyes
they are just too magnificent
too irresistible to the world
and she knows it
and she despises it
the worst is
staring at her blue eyes in the mirror
before bed
when she remembers
how she gazed into her brown eyes
and every night
she jerks her eyes out
pulling them until her sockets
empty
until the blood runs clear in the water
rejoicing in the stings and sharp pains
like she deserved to feel torture
for the way she cheated on her brown eyes
she secretly waits for a night
when her blue eyes see her brown eyes once more
so, she can apologize
with her blue eyes
in hand
as a testament,
a sacrifice for her love
and, then, maybe
she can finally
find
peace
in her blindness
her brown eyes
she sews on tight
as if embroidering a
most beautiful quilt
into her skin
taking great care
of the detail of each seam
to limit the amount of blood loss
after work
she spends a few moments
tugging the threads out
chaotically
excruciatingly
feeling every bit of
torment from the
slicing of her optic nerves detaching
basking in the agony
for the pain makes her feel something
every night
she places her brown eyes
on a lace fabric by the moonshine
hoping for a cleanse of the past
cherishing the youthful memories of her brown eyes
but,
not the bitter truth
that her love,
wasn’t enough for her blue eyes
her brown eyes
she sews on tight
but,
to wear them,
is to suffocate; a smothering reality
because the sadness is too bleak
because the tiredness is too debilitating
because the loneliness is too alienating
she secretly waits for a day
when her brown eyes are forever lost
within the night
and then,
maybe,
she can finally
find
peace
in her blindness
i see his soul
deep
beyond the
reclusive, decaying
vampiric
nature
he walks in
I see his spirit
even beyond the
black liquid
that
sticks to the cement
every time he takes a step
i see his heart
beyond the venom
he drips after
each kiss to my lips
I can taste his sickness
I can touch his poison
and yet,
all I ever feel
is an undying
devotion
to
him
∞
Malia Nahinu is a 6’5 queer artist who resides in the Bay Area currently. Per Nahinu: “I am very passionate about creative expression and thus I am currently working on written pieces surrounding topics of sexuality, gender and fiction. I began seriously writing a year ago when I realized a growing love for expressing within the written form and since self-published four poetry books revolving themes of life, queer experiences, Gothic, horror and sardonic poetry.”
Comments
Very good Malia,
Not sure if I understand completely but very proud of you for going for it!
Congrats on your publication.
I have a feeling after I read this that we are all phonies, you me even more than we all seem to emulate our true selves? I don’t know if this was the intention but it is what I feel. Love it,Frank Quintanilla, San Antonio Tx.