teach me how to be those things
I'm afraid of sunrises, beautiful things and pop punk songs from 2000,
of aesthetic photographs you might find in your grandmother's closet,
of sharp things and voodoo dolls hidden under beds,
of angelic voices that can calm oceans and drown city noise.
of cigarettes and alcohol that taste like peace and silence.
And you laughed when I told you the things I'm afraid of,
and you stopped when I told you that I’m afraid you might find a person
that looked like sunrise and sounded like 2000 pop punk songs (balanced, beautiful, madness).
I’m afraid of aesthetic photographs in orange filters,
of short-haired girls in skirts and baggy shirts,
Baby, I don't do aesthetic.
I do photographs in black and white with my back facing the lens.
I capture naked shoulders kissed by the sun,
apples in skinny, white legs barely hidden by white sheets.
Darling, I’m not the sharp things you use to carve my name on your wrist,
nor the voodoo dolls you kept hidden since you were six.
I am the soft pillows you hate for comforting you,
and sunsets with distorted colors of soft pink and blue.
You have always hated anything soft and pastel
but you love anything that can drown bus horns
and hundreds of feet walking in your head.
is to be jealous of cigarette butts and bottle mouths you kissed
in exchange for slow and unnoticed self-destruction.
I am jealous o the things that can save you,
and I hate myself for not being able to.
This is part of Withdrawal Symptoms, a collection of poetry and proses posted on my Wattpad account that you can binge-read for free. Link on pinned post.