Do you look at me anymore?
Am I still your daughter?
Am I still eligible to go to Heaven?
I used to be.
Dad is convinced I need
a good man,
a good fuck,
to pray the gay away,
to suppress my feelings,
so one day they will go away.
And God, I’ve tried.
I’ve spent so many days at Your alter on my knees praying.
Hoping You can show me, teach me, take me away.
I’ve spent many sleepless nights in strange men’s bed,
hoping they could straighten me out,
but instead, I leave each morning feeling more hopeless than before.
caught between my faith,
being the woman
You expect me to be,
with her gentle eyes,
and piano hands.
with her flawless smile,
and contagious laugh.
wanting to be
who You want me to be,
Who my family wants me to be,
who I want me to be.
But you made me.
And You’re not supposed to make mistakes,
Tired of being wrong.
Tired of being afraid.
Afraid to talk to You.
To tell You,
this is me.
The me You made.
Made in Your image
and with Your love.
I’m still me.
I still love Dad,
But, I love me, too.
Is that wrong?
Because if I love me, I have to love her, too…
is part of me,
and I can’t pray her away.
love is patient,
and she could be it,
she could be home.
Little do You know,
You’re breaking me apart.
If You see all,
do you see me
crying on Sunday
numbing my soul
with silver blades
Searching for refuge
in the sound of her voice
and the warmth of her hug.
Pushing and pulling
struggling between You and me
and who I need to be
treacherously close to living in sin
Dangerously close to living in Love.
I am the weight
that sits on your chest
making getting out of bed
I am the snooze button
pressed too many times
meaning messy hair and
I am the skipped meals
that still manage to appear
in the thickness of your thighs
as you sit in front of the mirror as you cry
I am the hollowness that
lives inside your chest where you
imagine your heart is supposed to be
but numbness is all you know
I am the buzzing inside your
brain that drives you slowly insane because
it’s late and you want to sleep but
I want to know how you will die
I am the smile that never reaches your
eyes cracking and fading because it’s too weak
to light the darkness of your eyes but strong
enough to deceive the fool
I am the pit just below
your stomach aching as I radiate
from your head to your toes making you regret
God only knows
I am the creeping crawling thought
about silver blades kissing the softness
of your skin until the pain
gets you high
I get you high.
With hearts pitter patter
O̶h̶,̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶p̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶
Blood pumps faster.
Somewhat s l u r r e d.
Words tumble out.
So. Many. Eyes.
I would love to write you a love poem,
one about how when I look you in the eyes
it’s as if time stands still and someone squeezes my heart
to stifle its beating only to release swarms of birds
somewhere behind my belly button.
I’d like to capture the way your hugs
remind me of a fall day, full of contentment and comfort,
but overflowing with magic that dazzles me,
leaving me seeing nothing but vivid colors,
warming me from the inside out with a sense of serenity.
I aspire to describe the way your kisses
leave me breathless, but not drowning, gasping for air
but like the moment when you’re coming out of a deep sleep
nuzzled in the space between utter bliss and total ecstasy,
with no thoughts, no worries, just total surrender to the security of the moment.
I’m yearning to translate the way your laugh
sounds better than any music I have ever heard,
because it reaches straight into my soul
touching all the broken pieces; reviving them,
giving me motivation to put them back together.
I want to illustrate how your touch
is soft like fuzzy blankets against my bare skin on a cold night
gently caressing everywhere the cold air nips,
with velvet fingers,
gently melting me with delicate love.
But sweetheart, let’s be real.
I’m not a soft spoken, sappy sort of girl.
I’m broken, jagged
hardened but not quite hateful.
A long time ago my soul got wrecked
custom holes got punched into it and
I haven’t been able to fill them since.
But in the middle of the night,
when you run your fingers over my bumpy love body,
I feel like the brokenness is bearable
like maybe the bumps, the tears, the scars,
they each contain their own beauty.
The same beauty that I find in your eyes
that still gives me butterflies
when I look too closely,
when you kiss me,
Fiercely igniting a fire that overtakes me
like the moment after an orgasm
where your body tingles; head to toe
your mind is fucked up, but in a good way
words slurring into one another but they’re not quite words
more like segments of thoughts
jumbled into a giant ball of letters wishing to mean something.
You, make me mean something.
Before you, feeling something meant fear,
pain and anguish a moment away
Baby, I can’t just be another option.
Because when you wrap your arms around me,
holding me close enough to count your heartbeats with my own,
it feels like I’m high.
Like the first time you got me stoned.
You heighten my senses
making every touch, every kiss, every giggle,
It’s like you make everything right in my world.
You’re my own brand of cocaine.
Giving me a euphoric high,
just by kissing me.
Your body pressed against mine,
is like electricity shooting through me.
I lose my sense of fear,
only wanting to get you nearer.
You’re my adventure;
my dreams of something better.
You’re like a fairytale,
only with more sex,
and without the midnight curfew.
I fucking love you.
And that’s all there is to it.
Because rambling poems,
and pompous metaphors
cannot begin to illustrate my love for you.
Mia Phelps recently graduated from NAU with a BS in University Studies with emphases in English and Social Work. When she's not writing you can catch her remodeling her new home with her fiancé and their two dogs or curled up in her “grandma chair” in front of the fire with a good book.