black, a.

I often don’t say things out loud, even when I should. I contain and compartmentalize to a disturbing degree: In my belly-basement are hundreds of bottles of rage, despair, fear, but you’d never guess from looking at me.

I don’t know how to want without consuming.

She has a very intense energy about her, a wiry unpredictability. Fragility and feisty determination.

I want to taste dark water and see crackling trees and wild winds.

me: *has feelings*

I am the dancing imbalance of the stars.

I am mine, before I am ever anyone else’s.

Pitch-black winter nights live in my bones.

Would it be too childish of me to say: I want? But I do want: theater, light, color, paintings, wine and wonder.

Remember her hair in the morning before it was pinned, black, rampant, savage with loveliness. As if she slept in perpetual storm.

“I wanted to come undone like gold thread, like a tent full of birds.”