purple

i used to touch the bruises on my legs because the surge of pain would remind me over and over again. i would replay the moments in my head trying to remember what i did so i could avoid it ever repeating.

you always told me to wear jeans the next day so no one would see. you said it so lovingly, like you cared about not putting me in that awkward situation. i eventually convinced myself i didn't like shorts or skirts anyway.

do you think that in some weird twisted way, that's why purple is my favorite color?

wingless

the first time he came to me was in my sleep. he had feathers the color of coal and wings that smelled of salt. his skin, even with all of its scars, appeared to glow under the moon. months later i found him wingless on the beach, his back still bleeding. he said the water called him to me, waves guiding him to my shore. i brought him home that night, and every night after. i would fall asleep to the sound of his voice, dreaming of his wings. he'd be gone by sunrise, but always returned with the moon.

beatrice

it's no secret that your dark skin glows under the moon's reflecting light. but what you may not know is that the night isn't your only home, beatrice; the sun yearns for your return. it calls out at sunrise, wanting to kiss your back and shoulders. it misses filling your hair with scents of warmth and life.

i know your heart has learned to love the darkness in all of it's glory. i know you wake as the sun goes down and immediately reach for the moon. perhaps you can be a nightingale; singing both at night and in day.