.
.....Keiran Scarlet
2nd Day of summer, 514 AV
Well, last night wasn't horrible. It wasn't great either however, I don't know. Maybe I should just learn that most woman in Wind Reach are just looking for the pleasure. I am just clipped, useless... who wants someone forever anyways, right? Inarta don't need just one person. Chunhn Kariil... why can't I just be like every other dek licking Inarta?
...
How do I make love when
there are so many shores on my body
I don't want anyone laying down on?
That my silence has a voice and
it says, "Stop before you get hurt."
That thunder would roll
across my hands,
shaking them until I feared the lightning in myself.
It was the lightning in myself that shocked me most.
The rain that pounded against the backs of my eyes.
You said don't cry,
but hail the size of human hearts are never going to stop hurting.
Never going to stop the storm that
has been going on for so long
I forgot when it started;
and before it started I forgot how it felt,
because I forgot
how it felt to be loved.
Love was like a season I wasn't ready for.
The weather man said it was going to be sunny clear skies,
and I got clouds.
Innocent white turned ashen grey and I realized
they only ever like my brightness
until they see the darkness in the corners of my body.
They don't like the music my demons
screech in their evening sacrifices to the rain.
Which by the way is the most silent storm you could ever hear.
You wouldn't even know it was there
if you didn't sometimes get wet;
and sorry I'm not perfect,
but asking me to change the weather is like
throwing boiling water on a burn victim.
Like trying to make love when you haven't
learned the difference between a one night stand and "I love you."
Trust me I have learned now,
and I like sex.
My body however love's sex
because it loves feeling connected but
doesn't understand that feeling connected isn't love
when all you're doing is throwing all your pieces in a bucket
and saying they're together now.
That's not how love works.
I like sex,
but at the same time
I hate the way I have to convince my body
that it wasn't that it wasn't good enough.
That all storms are beautiful at a distance,
but everyone is afraid of them getting to close
and that it's not my bodies fault.
It's not my fault you only learned enough about the hurricane to
give it a name but never stayed around long enough
to understand why a storm always starts
in the middle of no where.
In the middle of a sea where the only sound
are the waves that scares people that never learned to swim.
I know how to swim now,
but it was like learning how to play guitar without strings.
How to sing music while someone choked me out,
and don't think I haven't been choked out
while someone 'made love' to me;
because the entire time I was drowning on her lips
sea nymphs were moaning lullabies like I have never heard;
and I know I did a fantastic job
because they left scars I would carry around for days on my back.
Soft enough to not bother me after a while,
but just deep enough to remind me that they were scars
and did I not have enough of those already?
I am being taught that only fools watch storms in the rain,
that it isn't love without scars,
and making love is for fairy tales and we're all just looking
for the one night stand that doesn't feel like it ended when they left.
You sit there and say I am a hopeless romantic.
That I am hopeless because hope isn't found in romance,
it's found in another persons scars;
and though that may be lovely to say
we are being taught to run from storms.
I was told silence was deadly,
so that must mean people are terrified of me
because I don't make small talk about the weather;
and in this culture
there's nothing else to talk about,
because we all say it best,
"I know everything."
My love is silent.
The only thing you'll ever hear is the drizzle,
because you can't make love
and be beautiful at the same time.
...
How do I make love when
there are so many shores on my body
I don't want anyone laying down on?
That my silence has a voice and
it says, "Stop before you get hurt."
That thunder would roll
across my hands,
shaking them until I feared the lightning in myself.
It was the lightning in myself that shocked me most.
The rain that pounded against the backs of my eyes.
You said don't cry,
but hail the size of human hearts are never going to stop hurting.
Never going to stop the storm that
has been going on for so long
I forgot when it started;
and before it started I forgot how it felt,
because I forgot
how it felt to be loved.
Love was like a season I wasn't ready for.
The weather man said it was going to be sunny clear skies,
and I got clouds.
Innocent white turned ashen grey and I realized
they only ever like my brightness
until they see the darkness in the corners of my body.
They don't like the music my demons
screech in their evening sacrifices to the rain.
Which by the way is the most silent storm you could ever hear.
You wouldn't even know it was there
if you didn't sometimes get wet;
and sorry I'm not perfect,
but asking me to change the weather is like
throwing boiling water on a burn victim.
Like trying to make love when you haven't
learned the difference between a one night stand and "I love you."
Trust me I have learned now,
and I like sex.
My body however love's sex
because it loves feeling connected but
doesn't understand that feeling connected isn't love
when all you're doing is throwing all your pieces in a bucket
and saying they're together now.
That's not how love works.
I like sex,
but at the same time
I hate the way I have to convince my body
that it wasn't that it wasn't good enough.
That all storms are beautiful at a distance,
but everyone is afraid of them getting to close
and that it's not my bodies fault.
It's not my fault you only learned enough about the hurricane to
give it a name but never stayed around long enough
to understand why a storm always starts
in the middle of no where.
In the middle of a sea where the only sound
are the waves that scares people that never learned to swim.
I know how to swim now,
but it was like learning how to play guitar without strings.
How to sing music while someone choked me out,
and don't think I haven't been choked out
while someone 'made love' to me;
because the entire time I was drowning on her lips
sea nymphs were moaning lullabies like I have never heard;
and I know I did a fantastic job
because they left scars I would carry around for days on my back.
Soft enough to not bother me after a while,
but just deep enough to remind me that they were scars
and did I not have enough of those already?
I am being taught that only fools watch storms in the rain,
that it isn't love without scars,
and making love is for fairy tales and we're all just looking
for the one night stand that doesn't feel like it ended when they left.
You sit there and say I am a hopeless romantic.
That I am hopeless because hope isn't found in romance,
it's found in another persons scars;
and though that may be lovely to say
we are being taught to run from storms.
I was told silence was deadly,
so that must mean people are terrified of me
because I don't make small talk about the weather;
and in this culture
there's nothing else to talk about,
because we all say it best,
"I know everything."
My love is silent.
The only thing you'll ever hear is the drizzle,
because you can't make love
and be beautiful at the same time.
