I dare you to fall in love with me

I challenge you to find the tragic beauty in my distorted mind

To endure the agonizing truth that you crave these sleep deprived eyes

I am a book

At a flea market

Atop a disheveled table

My pages are stained by sunlight

I’ve tattoos by past active readers

Every few Sundays

When I was younger, Sundays were holy days.

Afternoons were spent drenched in damp conditions with heated hoods

Praying hands pressed moisture into every follicle, wide tooth combs threatened audible whines.

Her tattoo glowed in the dark

sorta like her soul

and the halo around her heart

and the ember in her bowl

I was looking for a girl on mars

but she’s been living on the moon

She wants to see me to write something more…

positive

If I wanted to write about the brilliance of the sun,

I’d have to stop looking up…

to look down at my hand & pen,

We weren’t written in the stars
We were born as an idea
Written on the back of a receipt in Cupid’s pocket

We are the story that broke an age long writer’s block
We are the making of a rebellious mind