anklesaurus

I slept in my lover’s house last night

Under lights like stars and within dreams of sorrow

Sorrow for the lost years we were yet to share

Sorrow for the tears I’d cried for a month

Sorrow for how much I’d missed this room

The tapes lined up like soldiers on mahogany

Displayed like a masterpiece and cherished like a childhood dream

Relics, family heirlooms, none of them mine

My wish to be among them

But nothing changes the mind of you lover

Nothing changes your sorrow

Nothing can keep me from sleeping in this house

I didn’t think I’d get this far

It started with the Sardaukar

The Wicked Witch, the Northern Star

And tales of old and new

I was taught as a child

That fantasy can invoke these wilds

Of pages and pages that take you miles

Away from this morning dew

It’d taken years to read this many

Now my library is a plenty

A collection of sorts, worthy every penny

But priceless to a few

I take my books, I let out a sigh

Reality makes me want to cry

But within my stories I can hide

It’s always been on the tip of my tongue

It’s been on the tip of my tongue since my first kiss

Since I lost my virginity

Since I was five years old, and couldn’t figure out why

I liked the way my Barbies looked

Since I first realized I liked my nickname much more

Than my legal one

But it will never leave

When family likes to pretend

I never liked whole milk much

It tasted of wounded animal and such

I guess it always came in clutch

When my baking needs were in a rut

But I’ve always preferred “milk” instead

Made of almonds, cashews, coconut heads

Cause who needs milk when taken from a bed

The masks stared from all walls and ceilings

Glistening like diamonds in snowfall

With the lavishness of the courtrooms of old.

God forbid I could afford the price,

But god forbid I could look away.

It was as if I fell under a spell,

One where I danced with pearls of earthen perfection

Ate pheasant in thyme, crow and wine

I could enchant the bourgeois with only my word,

I could hold rarities in my hand made in other worlds.

It was the hate that filled me after,

December was chilly in the courtyard

And the gulls cawed in protest atop the towers

The air was moist with sea and smog

And the world was bright and early

I’d walked along here for the hell of it

And thought that beauty had never reached here

Yet every corner held a history near

And the world was bright and early

I sit on the bench, watch the children on the lawn

And their screeches were like those I knew

I felt some peace as I took it in

And the world was bright and early

Sometimes I use it as a comfort

And know that everything will be alright

Although the end is coming round

“Open up”

Two words that struck me with fear

Yet with a gentle glide of the door I hear slow footsteps come in

He sits on the bed, asks what happened

I cry and cry and cry

He pulls me into a hug with gruff force

Awkwardly trying to lighten the mood

I grin maniacally at the ridiculousness of it

A brook babbles near

The place where my mind is free

Does a mask hide shame?

Does it hide grief,

Or happiness reserved for yourself?

Does it cloak your hideous personality?

Or the mountains of passion and gratitude you possess?

Does it accentuate everything you’ve finally achieved becoming?

Does it strike love?

Fear?

I have to think that

Everyone here is an actor

I’ve never been familiar with bible verses

I knew they stemmed from my Torah

But I was never allowed to see for myself what they contained

I would hold my palms towards twin flames on Shabbos and recount my blessings

Wake in the morning and thank the universe for returning my soul to me

But I never stopped to wonder what was its appeal

So as I grew older my curiosity peaked

Eventually I found myself down the rabbit hole

In wonderment, my revelation was not its simplicity,

Its profoundness, its comfort,

But it began the cycle of asking

Why do we fight when the only difference