I want to hide behind
dark eyes, cloak myself in long
black hair, red lips, pale skin.
Feel something different in my fingers.
The blondness of how I am known
somehow doesn’t seem to fit.
I am something different until I catch a
glimpse—in the mirror, in someone’s
I fight to keep this vision of myself
intact, when I continually feel like I am
viewing myself in a puddle during a
Trying to scream over thunder.
Every moment makes me realign my
thoughts. Every person feels
like an old friend and a stranger.
His kiss feels a hundred years old, while
somehow I don’t know it at all.
The familiar is foreign.
It is a want for difference like
a fury building inside me.
A fire—destructive and life giving–
in my throat. Perhaps breathing
it out in a rampage of words might
eliminate the burning behind
I need something to douse this heart.