A Poet's Dictionary

/ˈsāvyər/

Your favorite word is nunayehisdvna. Safety. You've got raspberry juice staining your fingers, dirt on your shins, tears in your eyes, and the taste of someone else's god on your tongue, always. Everyone you touch weeps for the dead.

It has been centuries since you were last touched with a soft hand. The sharp crack of a palm connecting to your soft, uganawa cheek is the thanks you get for every good thing you do.

/ˈsākrəd/

1. People are not always good. People are cruel, difficult to understand. They were good, once, but you are not the one who changed them. 

2. We are all scared of our feelings, for they are wily and do not care to listen to matters of reason. Confronting them seems like such a terrifying task. It’s fine. But it’s not. It doesn’t need to be. 

3. You are grieving what you cannot have. 

4. There is an act of worship in your sorrow. You have crafted a religion out of the way your hands tremble when you have not eaten, out of your silent suffering you will not share. Your tears become prayers, your sobs become offerings.

/ˌəpˈset/

1. You show me a hickey on the side of your neck that’s the size of my palm and tell me how frustrated you are by it--the girl you hooked up with didn’t listen when you told her you couldn’t have any where your dad could see. It feels like an uppercut to the jaw.

2. The pain is hypocritical--I’ve hooked up with someone several times while I told you I loved you because I couldn’t handle this loneliness anymore and I needed to feel needed or wanted or something that wasn’t horribly alone and unnecessary and, honestly, I only felt guilty about one of them. 

3. I would be yours if you would let me.

/ˈlōlīt/

The first time we ever met was in the middle of the night; our first true impressions of one another were in the dimness of suburban street lights and a pale moon, and you were so beautiful then.

I had a zoo in my belly that night I got into your car—I was so scared and for all the wrong reasons. I wanted you to like me, to want me, the way I wanted you.

I waited all night for you to touch me, to kiss me, to do something, anything to show me you wanted me. You made no move, so I did.

Pulling you in to kiss you was the most electrifying moment I’ve ever felt—I was so tired of waiting for you and so scared you would be upset. When you leaned in, I swear, I went dizzy with excitement.

/ seks /

1. I imagine laying in bed with you almost every night. Your calloused hands tangled in my knotted hair, whispered moans into mouths and collarbones, breathy I love you’s on repeat as my nails travel down your spine. I imagine the feeling of your fingers inside of me, how they don’t feel like they’re gutting me like a pumpkin before it’s carved, for the first time ever, how they feel good enough for my back to arch as you move them in rhythm to a song I cannot hear. 

/’selfiSH/

1. I have spent so much of my life running myself to the bone for everyone around me, putting their wants before my needs day in and day out. It is good work, rewarding work. Work that someone must do. I would not shirk it for anything.

2. But just this once, just this one time. Let me have what I want without payment. Let me have you without guilt or retribution or sacrifice. Please. Even if it helps no one else. Even if it benefits only me. Just this once, gods, please. 

Your hand holds mine for a minute, a moment

In time and my breath hitches because I have been wanting your touch for far too long

And it feels exactly like I thought it would—

Bony fingers covered in callouses—they almost feel like his (before the first time he hit me),

And that is fucking terrifying—you are fucking terrifying—

Because so much of you feels like the best parts of him and

I am the same kind of infatuated with you as I was with him when everything first started and—

No.

You feel nothing like him, in the best ways.

Your hands may hold the same shapes but yours are so gentle when you touch me

Like you think I’m going to break,

And honestly?

I might.

But not from you touching me.

From you telling me “I love you” and never meaning it how I want you to.

I’m literally so in love with you like

Holy fuck.

I’ve spent 8 years of my life feeling like my only value is in sex

Like the only way I can show someone I love them is to fuck them,

And you...

You make me not even want it.

You make me not think it’s necessary.

And I have never felt that before.

It’s fucking terrifying.

Around you, I feel like I’m worth something good

Like I’m something worth saving.

When I tell you I think I could live without sex anymore

I mean only with you.

/ˈhōlē/

1. You are trying to convince me you are not beautiful by saying you’re not heavens-sent no matter how many times I try to argue that you are and yes it’s 3am and I’m drunk off my ass on vodka and lemonade but I don’t need to be drunk to know that you are absolutely divine.

2. You tell me you cannot be heavenly because you don’t believe in God and I laugh because my belief in God died at 14 in a nursery bathroom—but that is a story for another day—but I know heavenly when I feel it and your smile is the warmth of the gods on earth.

3. You will not manage to convince me that Neith herself did not weave your very bones together while Hathor sculpted the clay of your beautiful face (I know you hate that word, I’m sorry, but the words to describe you otherwise elude me and I need you to know). You will not be able to tell me that Anubis gifted you the strength to kill a man of needed and Osiris himself breathed your life into your flawless form in one divine moment.

Oof

And you ask me to kill you because you hate it and I am crying but not for any reason I find good so I just say 

No. I don’t want to. Why should I, anyways?

And you tell me that I should because you’re a dumbass and I ask you

Why?

“Because you’re the only one that understands my weirdness and wouldn’t pull this shit.” And I have nothing to say because this is a compliment wrapped in a sucker punch to the stomach and I am doubled over barely breathing. 

“I like you, you make me comfortable.” Is something you have told me often and I want to believe you I want to believe you I want to believe you and sometimes it feels so hard. 

“And if I said I can’t have a hickey you’d probably be fine, not do it anyway”

Yeah. I say instead of “this is hell on earth because I love you and I know that I shouldn’t”

I tell you I’m upset for no reason because of finals stress and while that’s somewhat true, we both know that’s not why I’m crying. You say

“No, I feel bad too. If it makes you feel any better, she’s not coming back.” 

And I tell you 

I mean, it’s your life and you can do what you want, I’m not gonna stop you. 

But what I want to say is

I am so in love with you and I want to be the person leaving hickeys in places no one else can see. I want to be the one fucking you in the middle of the day when you sneak out of your house and your dad doesn’t know where you are and I cannot be. 

I am scared you will never love me like I love you, no matter how many times you try to tell me that one day we’ll end up together. 

I am still scared you will never want me like I want you. I am still so scared that this is how we end: my hands clasped against my stomach as I’m doubled over on my bedroom floor and crying because I am never good enough I am never good enough I am never good enough.

You tell me you still feel bad and I believe you. I believe you, I do. 

/ˈwər-shəp/

I have lit so many candles in your name that my walls have learned the way you taste. My ceiling knows the sound of your name falling off of my tired, hungry lips and my pillows ache for your touch like it is something that they need to survive.

You are so far away, even when you’re right next to me. I do not know how to bring you home. I beg you to come back to me, to sit with me and be, but you do not hear me. You do not know I am here, waiting ever so patiently for the day when you will come back to me.

/gilt/

1. I have lost an important part of me, have you seen her? I don’t know where she went or even where to look for her, but do you know? I can barely remember what she looked like... but she looked happy, something no one else around here ever does. 

2.  Do you know why there is so much blood on my hands? My whole kitchen is dirty but my knives are squeaky clean. I don’t understand what this is anymore. Why can’t I remember?

3.  I have killed an important part of me, did you see her? I remember it all so clearly. I went to look for her, to see where she’d gone. I barely remembered her name, but I knew her face. No one around here ever looks happy, but she always did. I wanted that, to be happy, but she wouldn’t give it to me. She wouldn’t give it to me. I took it.

4.  Do you know why there is so much blood on my hands? I do. I murdered an innocent girl today, I murdered my own joy. I tried to clean up the mess I’d made but… but I can’t. I guess some part of me likes it messy.