gifts aren't what will keep me here; i've got to choose to stay. so hold my hand instead and feel the grooves of my knuckles against the flesh of your thumb.
the mind is fraught at night when photopsia sets in, but a passing car lights the blonde of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest, and the subtle flicker of your eyes as you dream so i can sleep, too.
i can roll into the warmth of bergamot, lavender, and tea tree, breathing your neck deeply into my lungs. the potion of aromas peels the knotted threads of muscle in my back apart.
i fret, but the song in your timbre changes my tune. how can i do anything but smile when your voice carries a grin in every consolation and affirmation?
when life leaves the bitterness of strife in my mouth, you soothe the wounds like fennel. subtle sweetness caressed in with gentle lips.
About the Creator
kp
I am a non-binary, trans-masc writer. I work to dismantle internalized structures of oppression, such as the gender binary, class, and race. My writing is personal but anecdotally points to a larger political picture of systemic injustice.
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