It’s not like in the movies—
When the girl cries softly,
Her teardrops falling gently,
Her lips plump and red like rubies.
It’s excruciating and loud—
With globs of tears leaving a trace
Of mascara staining her face,
In the only moment she’d allowed.
Like shoes that pinch my toes
And socks stretched so thin
They tear into holes,
Like jeans that will not rise
No matter how much I shimmy
Them over my thighs,
You confessed to me in a song,
Because music was your voice,
The world was your option,
And I was your choice.
You kissed me at my door,
A kiss that tingled to my toes,
A kiss that sealed our secret,
One the world didn’t need to know.
Here’s to Cupid aiming accurately,
To true love being found.
Here’s to being nice (and a little naughty!)
For Santa all year ’round.
Here’s to keeping our heads up high,
When we’re crawling in the dirt.
Here’s to friendships that last for life,
And to family that doesn’t hurt.
On the bathroom floor,
Glass shard in hand,
It catches the light,
Is this the end?
And the tears, they
Bounce off the glass.
Shutting my eyes, I’ll
Just make this fast.
She says she’s not pretty
But if only she knew
The way I bite my lip
When she smiles with hers
The way she teases me
Like a taboo.
I was born from chaos
For a life of blood and war,
Of loneliness and duty.
They envy the power
That flows through my veins
To a heart seldom used
And forgotten.
I know what lurks beneath
The rippling muscles and silky hair,
I know what’s underneath
The sultry eyes and the way they stare.
He said I was too sweet,
Too trusting and too prim,
But at least I have a heart that beats
And I can’t say that for him.
© 2020 Jade M. Wong
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It’s October again! Okay, technically, it’s the middle of October now, but in my defense, there is a pandemic going on, so time’s been extra-wacky lately.
Still, we are officially in my favorite month of the year, a month that marks the start of everything I love: warm scarves, hot tea, leather jackets, combat boots, golden leaves, longer nights, and…my birthday!
Read More »This poem
Is for the child
Sprinting through the crimson streets
Tripping over the last breaths
Of his father—
For the mother
Protecting her babies’ ears
From the piercing shrieks that echo
Long after the ashes settle—
