edgar, you're a heart eating canibal; i swear,

preyed on my soul, picked it apart with pink

tinted nails, while whispering raven colored

lyrics in tongue tied strains, her body ached.

a beautiful unbecoming, you said to me; she

simply screamed for a sinner's delicacy; then,

when days became poverty's raven, you drank,

you drank impossibilities (calling'em prophecies)

for centuries, then claimed them as you're own.

edgar honey, what does that poetry mean? 'cause

all that's sewn to skin is the forgotten confessions

and sun dipped tragedies; & know, she's no saint,

even if her eternity claimed your lips whispering

as though you're the savior to our dreams. yet,

i suppose cadavers are distinct immortalities & 

nightmares are dreams that've soaked reality.

your lack of culture astounds me; tell me Lily, i know,

you have your own wounds carved from the childhood

that strangled you, but why do you scrap the border

of my reality under the manicured nails you keep blood

red, regularly. Lily, mother, honey (i think it was you called

me), you told me i was too literal but you’ve yet to read

a damn ounce of my poetry. it’s ’cause of you i’ve decided

that the lines on my hands are destinies i’ll never reach;

because you keep pulling the fantasies and dreams like a rope

around my neck; so Lily, why can’t i be free to breathe easy?

i refuse to draw the line of balance; don’t you know impurity

is a balance of these times i’ve decided to call modern art? no,

Lily, you’re naive, blind too it seems; cause my skin’s the color

grey and i painted it out of metaphorical meaning. so please,

stop preaching your false religion as though it’ll save me from

becoming my own somebody; 10 years they’ll call me a writer,

even if, Lily, right now you don’t even know i crafted a soul

out of writing words and typing the bold things i’d never speak.

yes, Lily, you’re right about my bravery; it crumbles when

you’re within feet of me.

perhaps it’s true, you’ll always live in someone

else’s shadow; that’s why they tell you as their

gaze shapes you into your father’s legacy your

mother birthed you into. even if it’s not, this

is how you grew up:

it started young, back when you took medicine

like shots, due to your youthful injuries; yes,

back then it wasn’t so bad to be the center of

your father’s world, following into his footsteps

then was a blessing, there was no controlling,

simply; innocent loving. then it grew to be a

necessity, that your soul was predestined to

obey the legacy; you must play, it’s your

purpose; even if you don’t want to just try it

out, for your father honey; ’cause even though

they say they love you, it somehow ends up

about them. soon, you realize that even though

it’s not okay you’re failing AP chemistry, got a C

on that exam you  studied for all thanksgiving

break (in between practices of course), it’s still

more okay than the team losing a game ’cause

it’s all your fault (should’ve played better boy;

what  happened out there; i didn’t raise you to

play like that; how does losing feel? you better

learn from it). next game comes and they’re

telling you it’s all on you, it’s all on you, you gotta

play football Nicky, we’re counting on you; it’s

almost as if they forgot what happened last time

they didn’t listen to your face say, hey, i need a

break. suddenly the whole crowd hears it, your

father’s yelling GET YOUR TAIL OUT THERE, play for

the team-PLAY FOR ME.

and it finally, fully, breaks you; the legacy comes

falling down in the form of tears as you scream back

(as your father recalls it: with “audacity”) the pain

you’ve been enduring for years; I DON’T WANT TO PLAY

FOOTBALL. because even when you use to love 

something, you can still grow to hate it; it’s a pity,

really, you could’ve fulfilled the legacy easily (as your

mother says lovingly, it’s in your blood honey), if only

they hadn’t painted your dreams for you first.

but Nicky, it’ll be okay; i promise, even if

your daddy’s mad at you & your mommy

doesn’t know what to do (her two boys are

fighting, can’t you see it hurts her too? why

can’t one of you just talk to the other already,

throw in a few “sorry”s and try again? just

try again already.) i know it hurts, Nicky,

but please listen to me, it’ll be okay; because

i still love you.

---footnotes---

legacy called himself an artist and sculpted your destiny; it only took eighteen years of conformity smoothing the sides of resistance’s edges for your to voice out who you wanted to be; don’t worry Nicky, i’ll hold you when everyone leaves you (even if they pretend to stay with you, i’ll be the only one with my arms around you). tell me, why is it so bad he wanted a happily ever after different from his dad?

solitude can be okay too.

i.

her heart bloomed petals long ago; instinct told her

never let them go, so she buried the roots in the soil

she calls home; daisy, she enjoys being alone. & yes,

her heart cries for a lover she has yet to know, but for

this brief pause in eternity, she doesn't mind the quiet

nights, she spends alone. daisy, she finds reading just

as happy as her friends find partying, or even more so.

she finds him, she loves him, she says, run your hands

along my curved spine, love me younger, it's divine.

ii.

he's been broken, countless times: so he built walls

from pretend, it's his pain he tries to hide. that's when

he found, the peace in sleeping, when stress is weeping

from the corner of his dreams, he finds the purest form

of clarity. & he didn't need much beyond simple love,

but without it he would've never realized, he found

quiet days of hiking far more appealing than screaming

hallways that're constantly mocking.

he find her, he loves her, he says, let's take it slow, baby,

don't you know, i've been down this road.

iii.

they tell her, it's all in her head, that daisy simply couldn't

understand; but youth isn't unyielding, it's naively forgiving,

but daisy's always lived, with her heart striding; why change

that now, when being alone suddenly feels confiding? so when

courage leaps out, into her arms, daisy faces the world; only

he is what her gaze had held.

together they'll love, with an unspoken knowing; an understanding

that strings their hearts together, it's quite heartwarming. and

together they'll spend their days talking or simply listening; just

as much as they appreciate their quiet nights alone in their room.

solitude doesn't mean one ever stops loving you.

she finds him & he finds her, she loves him & he loves her,

they both say, careful, i may end up loving you.

ironic, how they already do.