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red

9/10/2016

I grew up in colors.

Black was first -
Nighttime without the prickle of stars
Loneliness and hunger and the unwieldy weight of an empty bed.

Black was first
And then there was red:
Streamlets that blush and flood just beneath my skin,
Salmon scars who linger like happy haunts above it
The corners of my eyes when I laugh too much and
The ridges of my lips when I curse too much
I learned to warm myself in the flames of those before me,
To bask in Juliet's red red roses and
Kepler's Supernova Remnant, the way it is and it isn't.

Black was first
And then there was red
To fill me up instead.

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again

9/4/2016

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you spend so much time refining your lies,
getting good at pretend
that the falling apart is simple,
poetic

you call it
Heartbreak Misery Failure because
you know it's much much easier to give in
than to not fall apart again

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boxroom

9/4/2016

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I found lavender on your tomb
so I drank it in and
it was sweet, like your perfume
you didn't ask but
i climbed inside
made room for myself in your room

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waking up

9/2/2016

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i shook the rain out of my eyelashes
peeled back the lids
blinked and blinked again -
the tree we thought was dead
(you know the one,
the stringy gray skeleton by the shed)
opened her eyes this morning
grew mossy felt scales after the storm
stretched wide her prickly emerald fingers
and yawned

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Love, the Confetti Monster xoxox

red

again

boxroom

waking up

J. DuBois Lockhart

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