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[perkahlia]

        how much, how much, how much, he asks?               how much does he mean to you?                     how much do you love him?

you know the answer as though it’s written into every line of your dna, every single part of your composition arranged into the carefully laid out truth --- to the moon and back, to pluto and back, to the farthest star in all of the universe --- and back. because he’s something stronger than magnetic, something fiercer than gravity, something woven into every thought and want and need that you have. he is home, plain and simple, and you will always find him again.

    you can no more keep yourself from loving him than you can keep yourself from the stars.

you know where you belong --- in the night sky, in the open void, in the space between spaces where you are nothing if not free. you were made to navigate the stars, to find the truth of the universe. but you know where you’re headed, where you’ve always been headed, where you have always belonged and know you will belong again --- by his side, the only earthbound place that has ever been enough for you.

                    how much, how much, how much, he asks?               how much does he mean to you?         the truth of it --- so much even the grave cannot keep you from him.

[perkahlia]

                you know him and                     you know yourself and         what you know is that people like him are soft and made of sunlight and people like you are hardened edges and stormy nights and these are things that should never be in the same place at the same time but     here you are and you fit like you were made for this place and here he is and he stands out like he’s heaven-sent and you’ve always told yourself you’d rather be here than anywhere else but for the first time---for the first time your home feels like it’s wrong, like here is a place that shouldn’t be, because he’s here and he deserves so much more, deserves a here as bright as he is, deserves a here that lets him shine instead of smothering his light.           what you know is that you aren’t patient or forgiving or gentle, and a boy made of warmth shouldn’t have to see the cold and calculating anger that lives in your eyes, and sunshine shouldn’t mix with thunderclouds, and a gentle boy like him shouldn’t have to weather your storms and learn to navigate your your edges.

                you know him and                     you know yourself and             what you know is that he deserves better than the likes of you, but you swear on everything good and everything bad and everything in between that you would draw the blood of anyone who ever dares to raise a blade or a fist or an unkind word to him, without even a moment’s hesitation.   what you know is that he’s foolish enough to love you, and you might just be foolish enough to love him.

[perkahlia]

            she makes you feel like the moon. she is blinding brightness and constant warmth and solar flares, loving and healing and explosive. she shines so brightly you can only hope to gleam back in the palest of reflections --- and some days you are too dark to shine back for her at all. she doesn’t mind; she glows for you anyways. she’s constant when you’re not, cares for you even when you cannot, brings sunshine and compassion even during your darkest cycles. she is the sun, and she makes you feel like the moon --- you wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything in the world.

    he makes you feel like the sun, as sure as if he’s given you his own name, the same way he offers you every other part of him. he is solid and constant and brimming with life and beauty, and no matter your attempts to push him away, he still spins in constant orbit around you, exactly where you always need him. even during your eclipses, when you are too dark to find the light in yourself, he waits patiently for you to glow again, and embraces your newfound gleam as though there is nothing to forgive. he is something so unendingly good, and he makes you feel like something good, too. he is your world, and he makes you feel like his sun --- you wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything in the world.

        my darling, i know that everyone you love has come away changed, has come out of it shrouded in violence --- either covered in battle scars or thirsting for blood. i know it has happened often enough to shatter your heart, to make you build a wall around yourself. i know it has happened often enough that you think the problem is you. my darling, i know you are scared to open your heart again, scared to let them brush their fingers over the parts of you that have pushed others away, that some have grown to hate --- i know you are scared to lose them in the same way.

            but you are celestial bodies and though you are always hurtling towards the unknown, you are locked in a dance so cosmic and beautiful you can never be pulled apart. i know you are scared to love when love always finds a way to be ruined, but, my darling, it’s all right to love one just as fiercely as you love the other.                 it’s all right --- so love them.

[perkahlia]

     i.,

you’re a girl made to start fires and lead liars --- you could break this world, if you were only given half the chance.  you don’t need anyone else, and why would you?  when your shadow finally grows larger than the one you were born in, the sea of lost faces and dark hearts who surround you will see --- and they will cower.

he’s a boy made to break hearts and make scars --- he’s silent and swift and sure; ruthless and relentless and remorseless.  he’s strong enough to stand on his own, and devious enough to get away with anything; he strikes like lightning, there and gone before you’ve ever known his presence.  he wears his pride in his smile --- and it shines.

you choose him because he can match your stride, can meet your wit, can challenge your skill.         you choose him because he's not the type to love you.                 you choose him because he’s not fool enough to try.

     ii.,

sly hands trade stolen prizes, wry grins trade hushed banter, keen eyes trade wordless confirmations.  you speak in a language all your own, speak with your actions and hidden meanings and loaded glances, but for all your expansive language you know friendship isn’t in your vocabulary.  people like you don’t have friends.  people like you are too heartless for that.

you ask and he complies, but it’s not because of something like kindness.  you call, and he comes, but it’s not because of something like friendship.  you need anything at all and he acquires it, but it’s not because of something like care.  he’s no less a pawn in your game than you are a tool in his kit.  you’re only here, the two of you, because you’re useful, that’s all.

he doesn’t care about you.         you wouldn’t want him to.

     iii.,

love is for soft people with soft hearts, love is for heroes and princesses and the fools who think being kind gets them anywhere.  but you, though, you’re the villain in the shadows, the dragon in the tower --- and he, the thief in the night, the snake in the grass.  you’re not soft and not kind, and love is not for the likes of you, on your island of sinners and thrown away things.

--- but you’ve never let anyone see you cry, until he finds you in the dark with your chest ripped open and your heartache laid bare and he won’t just leave you there. --- and you’ve never let anyone kiss you, until he starts to lean towards you and his words echo in your head and you can’t stop yourself from meeting him halfway. --- and you’ve never let anyone make your heart a little less cold and petrified, until he smiles against your lips and sets a fire in your chest and you can’t help it, you can’t help it; you shove him away.

you’ve never hated anyone like you hate him for seeing your softness.         ( you’ve never loved anyone like you’re scared to love him. )

     iv.,

what would your mother say if she knew?  if she saw you weak, longing, asking him to stay?  she’d sooner see you swallow poison than your own pride, would sooner allow you to leave her home for good than to apologize to another; you know this even as sorry words fall from sorrier lips the next time you find yourself alone with him.  you know this, but in spite of all her cold warnings and colder advice ---

                you love him, you love him, and it scares you to death.

[perkahlia]

i’m here for         fumbling kisses ,                         & practiced kisses ,                                         & easy ,  routine kisses .

i’m here for         wondering if it’s okay to hold your hand ,                         & learning without words when you want me to take it ,                                         & the comfort of being able to take it without thinking .

i’m here for         tentatively stroking your hair ,                         & growing confidence as i run my fingers through it ,                                         & playing with your hair whenever i feel like it .

what i mean is ,             when i finally find you ,       when you’re not yet mine but i’m starting to wonder if you could be ,                 i will have so many years of longing saved up ,                       so many impulses i’ve waited to share ,            & i won’t know what i’m doing ,  but i can’t wait to learn how to be in love with you

[perkahlia]

not quite a poem; the mistakes you make part i

  (when she’s just a friend---and an irritating one---but damn is she pretty) i meet her when i am six, and she is seven our friendship is a tumultuous one, one which often struggles         ---    ( she will have her way, no matter who she                  must step on to get it, and she can’t seem                  to remember whether she plans to never                  speak to me again, or not )    --- but frustration and impatience have never clouded my vision; she is beautiful, her face has always been one i’ve loved to look at it’s a fact, plain and simple     i am not attracted to her       i never have been, i never will be but the way i regard her appearance has always strayed just beyond what ‘friends’         ---    ( or enemies or best friends or enemies or )    --- normally experience   but of course, girls do not look at other girls as something that lies just beyond friendly

  (when she’s bossy and not your type but your gaydar’s on point) she is not beautiful in the way i appreciate her dark hair flows down her back; her figure is nothing short of stunning         ---    ( i have always been jealous of the way our                  ugly uniforms frame and flatter her shape                  where they detract definition from                  everyone else )    --- and it takes nothing more than a shock of red lipstick to turn her into a supermodel but she is harsh where i prefer soft her face wide where i prefer spritely     she is not attractive to me       she never has been, she never will be but i know if i ever, ever want to learn what kissing a girl felt like         ---    ( not that i have ever wondered, of course                  not, of course i wouldn’t, but if i did, it                  would only be natural to be curious,                  wouldn’t it? )    --- she will be the one to let me and i think about it often, more often than i should, so often i wonder if i should feel wrong         ---    ( years later, my best friend tells me; i had                  known right, even then; this irritable, rude,                  domineering friend who i am glad to have                  lost contact with is now identifying as bi,                  and it seems i’d felt it even before she had )    ---   but of course, i am not a girl who would kiss another girl

  (when she genuinely grosses you out with her unsanitary habits but if she had a less gross doppelganger you’d be all over that) she, like my other two closest friends, is one i long to be rid of she may be meek where they are overbearing, but she has always been a little odd a little self important a little hard to be around but she is beautiful; she is tall, with a thin, lean figure, with a strong, elegant face     i am not attracted to her       i never have been, i never will be if only because i know the regrettable person she is a little too well but if someone completely different from her shared her appearance grew her hair out passed my way...         ---    ( i think about kissing that tolerable                  Someone Different in dark corners and                  spaces passionately and often, where no                  one can see )    ---   but of course, i am not a girl who wants to kiss other girls

  (when you’re an idiot and you hate to admit your mom is right) she is a wild ride personified a little crazy, a lot of funny, the kindest and most open soul i’ve ever met she’s younger, but only enough to surprise me and she’s endearingly sweet and loves to weave stories with me she’s perfect, to be honest         ---    ( i don’t like you writing romantic stuff with                  girls, my mom says in her most perturbed                  tone, if you do, i think tumblr will turn you                  gay. and i am enraged, because you                  can’t turn someone gay, writing with                  another girl about a man and woman                  falling in love will not turn me gay. i am                  not, strictly speaking, wrong about this. )    ---     i do not think i like her romantically       that i ever have, ever will but i am wrong, because i think about her always think about what it would be like if she flew across the country to see me if she climbed into my lap grabbed the front of my shirt pulled me closer leaned down and kissed me it consumes my thoughts more often than it doesn’t when she sends selfies, i find myself going back to simply look at them, countless times i begin planning to go to college where she lives, so that i can be near her and i tell myself all the while that she is just a friend   because of course, i know now that girls like other girls, but i also know i am not one of them

  (when you’re an even worse idiot, and the truth is miserably failing to catch your attention) she tells me once that she doesn’t like her face and it’s the worst thing i’ve ever heard i insist otherwise, not because it’s the polite thing to do but because she’s breathtaking and i selfishly need her to understand she says her face is too short---but her face is lovely, perfect it’s soft, her features are petite, and everything fits like it was designed to rest there perfectly her blue eyes are round and beautiful her nose is small and adorable her lips are naturally a perfect shade of pink and her hair always falls just right         ---    ( put simply, i love to look at her )    --- just one year, she holds a sleepover for her birthday party we sit in a circle around a word game we play with her and one of her younger sisters and she sits across from me when the game ends, she leans forward on her hands and knees to pick up the pieces and i can see right down her shirt i try not to look, but i can’t help what i’ve seen already i can’t help that i was glad to see it i can’t help that i keep thinking about it or that i think about what it would be like to stop time later in the night after everyone else has fallen asleep so that no one could bother us if i kissed her, if she kissed me it’s all i can think about for the rest of the night     i do not think i’m in love with her       or that i ever have been, ever will be but i am wrong, plain and simple later, i take her with me, on a family vacation and i don’t understand the importance of it, she and i sharing a bed for ten nights in a row i don’t appreciate it the way i should, having her to myself for so long but i love it nonetheless, love her nonetheless, and it shows; i have never snorted when i laugh but she does it embarrasses her, but it’s endearing, it only makes me smile and after a few hours in the car with her and her laugh for the first time, i discover a snort when i laugh as well and it stays with me for months, the sound of her laughter finding a home in mine i love her, i do and i think i will go to my grave, still half in love with the girl whose face is the best one i can imagine looking at whose laugh is contagious whose kindness will stay with me forever     but of course, while i know girls love other girls, i also know i am not one of them

  (when it pisses you off that someone you hate shouldn’t have been right) she has always been exceptionally pretty, though i’ve never noticed but she arrives, with her hair cut short in a way its never been and styled with a care i’ve never seen and with heels like she’s never worn and with her makeup done so well a professional’s hand could have done the job i don’t even recognize her at first surely i would remember if i had known someone so beautiful, after all she looks so much older, so much more free         ---    ( maybe i fall just a little bit in love with her                  on sight. )    --- i can’t help but say how good she looks, more than once because i’m not blind because it’s truly entrancing because the change is bold enough that any of our friend group would easily admit that there’s something about her right now that catches the eye lesbian, responds another girl, the one who has always hated me as though the word speaks volumes on its own as though she doesn’t even need to form a sentence around it i regard her with disgust and don’t dignify her with a response because there’s nothing wrong with being a lesbian, though i’m quite sure i’m not one and because one doesn’t have to be a lesbian to see that our friend is drop-dead gorgeous         ---    ( i am once again not, strictly speaking,                  wrong about that. )    ---     i do not think i am attracted to her       that i ever have been attracted to a friend, or ever will be but after the unwelcome commentary, i find the thought chasing me for the rest of the night of what it would be like to kiss her   but of course, girls might be attracted to other girls, but i am simply not one of those girls

[perkahlia]

f a e r i e  f i r e,       a n d  d r a g o n ‘ s  b r e a t h;     a t  t h i s  p o i n t  I ’ m  m o r e  e m b e r  t h a n  g i r l,           s o  h o w  l o n g  u n t i l  a l l  t h a t ’ s  l e f t  o f  m e  i s  a s h e s?

[perkahlia]

i don’t know you but these hands have ached to hold you since i was still small and blooming, still so unknowing of what i wanted

i don’t know you but my chest has ached to feel you resting upon it since i was still looking in all the wrong places

i don’t know you but i think i’ve been learning all about you from the laughter she offered me from the shape of her smile and the sincerity of her actions from the ease she and i had in understanding each other

i don’t know you, not yet but i know you could have spread the stars across the sky like a blanket given life to the sun from the shine in your own eyes taught the sunset how to learn its hues from the softness coloring your own heart and none of it would be your most wondrous and awing accomplishment because the most magnificent thing you could ever do for me is simply exist, in a time and a place where i can find you

i don’t know you, not yet but when i meet you, i think i will recognize you from the lessons i’ve learned from those who paved my way to you from the way my heart will reach for you knowing before even i do that everything you are is a miracle that i will never get tired of knowing