She has spent every moment of her life grieving previous moments, so excuse her if she is slow to think. Slower to speak. Slowest to open. If you find yourself admiring the way the clouds contour the sky, she will say it’s okay to be soft, still. Let her thunder shake the skies. She will split the clouds open like a wet mouth, a skinned knee, a screen door. She will tell you she is too much for you. What she means is you are not enough. Note how flames flicker at the snap of her tongue. Her body is a candle to burn. Soak your lungs in her smoke. Peel the wax from your throat and heave broken promises back to her. Ask for more. Don’t tell her who you answer to. Listen to her secrets crawling across the pillow. Let them nestle in the crook of your ear. Mold them into marbles. Steal the stars and sew them into your cape. Tuck her in at night, pocket her pain when she weeps. Fall asleep between her unforgivable teeth.
Lindsey J. Medina graduated from Kansas State University with a Bachelor’s Degree in English. She’s either watching basketball or buying sneakers while wishing she were watching basketball. She lives in Wichita, Kansas with her wife and fluffy shih tzus. Find her on instagram as @lindseymedinapoetry or on twitter as @queenadina_.