hearts are

r sky-blue,

u glazed

O with hope,

but,

let’s not

fall

in

love.

Let the sun,

the moon

and

the stars

elope;

writing stories

that dreams

are

made

of

.

Love holds me close,

keeps me safe.

It warms me.

It helps me.

But is also

hurts me.

It traps me.

I can’t leave love.

No.

I can’t leave you.

Why did I

fall in love?

Wait.

I didn’t.

I walked in.

And someone

closed the door.

Now I’m stuck.

Wait, another door.

What’s behind it?

My parents?

My freinds?

My family?

Me?

Yes.

All the things I love.

Here.

Hugging me.

Sufficating me.

Making me feel safe.

But I can’t leave.

I can’t leave love.

And since you’re love,

I can’t leave you.

This is why

I didn’t want to love you.

Now we’ll always be stuck.

Together.

Forever.

Spiritaully.

Emotionaly.

Mentaly.

Stuck.

~

Crimson paints ravelled with emerald layers,

misty haze as shades cream the sphere.

Galaxies sugarcoated in specks of dust,

fragments of rays crashed with bust.

Trees of pine in peace garnished gowns,

the ponds nearby reflecting the pearls amid town.

Between two layers where life inhales;

The earth,a major with roof beyond scale.

As love multiplies with each touch signalled

the colors dance while the universe exhales.

~

#Decastich

I felt his presence in his absence but I could not feel his essense in his presence and when I realized this, I knew it wasn’t love.

(or maybe it wasn’t him)

You were

a distant sea from my plains of sand.

Only if you stayed,

We could have built a dam in a deserted land.

Nonetheless,

If you didn't have me shoved

I couldn't have tunneled a lake,

and filled my void with a euphoria of self love.

I sing on the bus,

and call cheese mold and mush.

I dance and spin as I walk,

and speak in acents when I talk.

I roll my eye's at people's hopes,

but offer to show them the ropes.

I'm a perfectionist,

because I fail when I don't get the jist.

I tease and poke fun,

but I offer the energy of the sun.

I might stop when I get bored,

but I still am adored.

I always feel invisable,

but my strangeness makes me visable.

I always stand out in the crowd,

but that might be because my voice is really loud.

Now, seen, now recognized,

Gone inside and out, was the strife

In mental health and in social life

My freedom, in a truer sense, has been finalized.

Gone were my breasts!

The lumps of dread -that prompted the names

(the shaming whispers, and the hurtful stares).

Gone were the curves that mismatched my soul

To give way to feeling more whole.

Now seen, now heard,

My new voice holds power in each word

A position that’s tricky, though preferred

It adds dimensions to my world-

as of now the tables have turned.

There’s a headband made of fake pearls that isn’t where it’s supposed to be. It’s been rejected and hung thoughtlessly beside the earrings, surrounded on either side.

It catches my eye because anything with pearls will do that to me and also because I can’t stand when people put things back in the wrong place. It’s disrespectful, and sometimes it can make The Game harder. It doesn’t take long to find the right place for things, but people just don’t do it because people are lazy. That fact only sometimes works to my advantage, so most of the time it’s aggravating. I pick up the headband and examine it thoughtfully, wondering where I would wear it. Blake’s party is next weekend, but I’d probably lose it at his house considering the amount of tequila I’m planning on drinking that night. On the other hand, having an excuse to go back to Blake’s house after the party would have its own advantages.

I ponder a bit more, tapping the headband in question against my chin as I walk slowly down the remainder of the aisle, examining the earrings and eventually the necklaces. I’d just gotten a cute pair of earrings last week and none of the necklaces are really catching my eye the way the headband has, so I quicken my pace a bit and turn down the next aisle. Another rule of The Game: don’t linger too long.

This next aisle is where the headband should’ve been in the first place, and I smile when I see that the one I hold in my hands seems to be the last of its kind. Not necessarily essential to The Game, but it makes things more enjoyable for me when an item appears unique, even when it’s obviously been mass-produced and the fact that there aren’t many left probably just means a lot of other people have already bought the exact same thing.

It doesn’t matter- I only care about what’s in the store with me in this exact moment. The outside world doesn’t matter much, not when you’re locked into The Game. It’s one of the main reasons I play. After all, Blake can’t have a party every weekend and alcohol always comes with a price-tag in the shape of a heavily pounding skull and the inability to start any of the homework I’d promised Mrs. Benson I would finish on time this week.

But The Game’s only price so far has been an adrenaline rush and the notion that it could be worse if I let it.

It doesn’t sound glamorous to call it 'shoplifting,' and ‘five-finger-discount’ has always just sounded like a particularly unpleasant sexual experience to me, so I’ve taken to calling it The Game. Just in my head though- it’s not a hobby I share with anyone else, and I doubt they’d believe it anyway. I’m too well-behaved.

Essentially that’s all this is, though- a Game. I don’t take anything of value and I’m not really hurting anyone and I know for a fact that the suckers getting paid twelve bucks an hour here don’t care whether one lousy pair of sunglasses goes missing. It’s just a way to keep my fingers busy and my mind engaged, like a high-stakes version of crossword puzzles or Sudoku. We all have to keep our minds sharp in one way or another, and this way’s mine.

I’m out of the hair accessories aisle now and the headband with the pearls has been slipped smoothly into the pocket of my jacket. I’ve learned that it’s a bit like being a magician: you show whoever might be watching (usually the cameras) a distraction from the real Game. You drop something on the ground or you fiddle with a pair of earrings in one hand while the other hand is busy getting the job done. My heart is pounding loud inside my chest the way it always does when I play, and I move slowly and steadily towards the entrance of the store.

This is the part I love best.

The part where I could still undo it.

I could easily place the headband back where it was supposed to be in the first place before someone tossed it in with the earrings. I could browse the store a little, maybe walk out with a new nail polish or one of those face masks I’ve been wanting to try, the ones that don’t torture animals first to make sure the chemicals are safe. I could even pay for the headband with the money in my pocket. But I don’t do any of that.

I walk out the door.

A few paces out to the parking lot is when the adrenaline starts to wear off a little, and that’s simultaneously a relief and a disappointment. It means I’m free of consequence, but it also means that today’s Game is over.

This was a particularly good find. Sometimes I’ll go for something a bit riskier like a shirt or a CD or even a pair of jeans (just once), but today’s token is simple and easy and it’ll look good on me whether or not I hold onto the extra six pounds that have accumulated around my middle over winter break.

I’m walking around the corner and onto a side street now, far enough away that I can pull out the headband and examine it. The pearls don’t look as glossy as they did under the fluorescents and there’s a chip in one of them that I didn’t notice before, but it’s still cute. I’ve decided I’m definitely going to wear it to Blake’s party. I’ll wear it, drink too much tequila, lose it, and then have to go back and find it later. Blake will have to lead me from room to room, exhausted and hungover and maybe wearing that cute, grumpy scowl he always has after they’ve lost a football game. We’ll search between the couch cushions together and I’ll help him clean up some of the leftover beer cans so he’s not quite as grumpy about the whole thing and we’ll actually end up having an okay time stumbling around the house until we finally discover the headband that seems to never be in the place it’s supposed to be.

I’ll thank him so much for helping me and I’ll lean in to give him a little kiss on the cheek and that’ll be where the magic trick happens. I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to take yet, but Blake’s parents are fairly well-off and I’m sure there are things they won’t miss.

Shouldn’t be too hard to find something worth playing for.

The hat's off the board due to a collision with the dice. It's back on now: one, two, three, four, five spaces ahead, and that's one of the railroads SOLD. Connecticut, Baltic, and States Avenues go next; now the wheelbarrow's on chance ... what's that? Back three spaces? Oh, income tax. Not off to a great start.

Bouncing dice, racing players, two times around the board, and half the properties are SOLD. The hat coerces the wheelbarrow into giving up its railroad, and the dog has the first monopoly: Atlantic Avenue, Ventor Avenue, and Marvin Gardens. There goes Boardwalk, a great asset to the hat which seems to be establishing a great inventory, but there go some houses up over on the dog's Ventor Avenue and Marven Gardens. The wheelbarrow has both utilities now, but those have never really been much of a game changer.

Money's being passed around the board at an impressive rate, the players' stacks growing and shrinking, growing and shrinking.

Everything comes to a sudden stop.

Ten minutes later the action continues with crumbs tumbling down to the board with the dice as the bills and deeds are gradually covered with an oily, glistening sheen. New construction, mortgages, bartering, and then the wheelburrow is out, falling to its fate on none other than the railroad it sold to the hat hours before.

The dog chases the hat around the board again, the hat is in and out of jail, and the money goes back and forth. Around and around. Back and forth.

Around and around.

Back.

And.

Forth.

And then the pieces are still.

Hours pass.

Days pass.

The deeds and the bills sit frozen in place, and the dice read "5" and "2," one resting near the "M" of "Monopoly," and the other resting right on the Monopoly-man's tophat.

After nearly a week, after dust begins to settle with the crums on the board, the game is violently disturbed, turned on its side as the dog, the hat, the wheelbarrow, the houses and hotels, the dice, and the crumbs tumble into the box. The hard-earned cash is sorted, the deeds are stacked into one pile and rubber-banded, and the game is packed away to the top shelf of the coat closet where it will sit until the players forget how long it really takes to finish a game of Monopoly.