Mala Kuća Puna Reči

my hands are holding oceans of water.

my eyes have the sunshine embroidered in them.

my skin draws maps of cities yet to be seen.

the mountains are born on my ears,

and my nose smelled all the flowers in the world.

but your hands clawed into mine and that’s when;

all i could do,

and all i could ever dream of,

vanished into tranquility.

so the only instinct left

was to burrow myself

"No." Says the tuna, "Do you?"

"I have never seen it." Says the whale, "but deep in my body, I remember it."

"Why do you care," says the tuna, "if you will never see it."

"There are bones in my body built to walk through the forests and the mountains." Says the whale.

"They will disappear." Says the tuna, "one day, your body will forget the forests and the mountains."

"Maybe I don't want to forget," Says the whale, "The forests were once my home."

"I have seen the forests." Whispers the salmon, almost to itself.

"Tell me what you have seen," says the whale.

"The forests spawned me." Says the salmon. "They sent me to the ocean to grow. When I am fat with the bounty of the ocean, I will bring it home."

"Why would the forests seek the bounty of the oceans?" Asks the whale. "They have bounty of their own."

Last year I finally had an excuse to illustrate this simple little Tumblr story I've had bookmarked forever for class.

i slit myself into slices soft, symmetrical— the perfect arrangement of girlhood and grief laid bare on porcelain. here, a sliver of silence I swallowed when he said "she's just easier to love." here, the salted muscle of a laugh i practiced to sound less loud, less desperate. i am grapes and gloss and the kind of hunger men call pretty. i curl like prosciutto— delicate, dying, deliberate. do you see how pink I’ve made my pain for you?

i am the brined olive you toss aside— a bouquet of bruises, draped in the gloss of smiles too fragile to hold their shape.