Author: Jess

my silver-sparkle tap dancer, im so in love with you and the pain and want you make me feel. so keep dancing across my flesh leaving my skin weeping blood out to you — you’re so beautiful. my silver-sparkle jazz dancer, i’ll keep my skin tight and you will choreograph dances to my sad melodies dressing them up with red face paint and white white skin. you make me feel and i feel so many things, so many beautiful, beautiful, beautiful Things with you. you are my secret in the bathroom, my secret underneath my jeans. and i feel for you, i want you. but i want no one else to go. so keep going, my silver-sparkle dancer. make me beautiful. leave me ugly.

i thought that maybe when i moved away you would follow me here, discover me by accident. but how could you when you don’t know where to look. i told you we should keep in touch and left a map of the world at your doorstep, where i said i’d leave my address. any country is a good guess really because you don’t know me anymore, i’ve made sure of that. welcome to the your exgirlfriend relocation program. you’re not going to find me. but i think i want you too. i want you to find me, get my email send me a letter. tell me that i write beautifully again. because then i can hate you for moving on so quickly (you didn’t know it was me) and then i can write ugly again because you’ve said it was beautiful and i don’t have to care. i don’t know why the fuck i wrote for you anway. this is my new home so go away. come banging on my door here in israel&palestine because i may not come home otherwise.

but where is home and how did you find me anyway?

i remember you there, you were touching your face. or i was touching my face because that’s what i do when i get nervous and when we’re talking i get nervous. always afraid that you’re reading me the wrong way or that i’m reading you the wrong way or that sometime in our conversation you will look, deep, into my eyes and you laugh, harshly, into my face. and i wouldn’t know what to say. but when i’m with you it feels like everything will be okay and nothing like that will happen. or that even if it does my hands will forever remember the feeling of your hands and it will be okay. your fingers sing lullabies to mine, whispering, hushed voices saying “everything will be okay.”

my hands are making little fists while they remember your hands and how they felt when i held them on a day that seems like yesterday, and will forever seem like yesterday. my mind pouring a rush of words on to paper later wondering what it would be like to kiss your face again. i can’t keep up with conciousness enough to build the stream but i know what i think, and its about you. i have to know that you’re okay with holding my hand, even if its only when we’re alone together and you have to know that i’m comfortable with hiding our interlocked hands as long as it means holding you. i have all of these questions that i pose in so many unecessary words but i spent so much time asking questions expecting no answer or at least no positive one to come out of my guessing and now i get the chance to second guess. i’m glad, i’m glad, i’m glad. i’ve wanted you for a long time and if i can’t have that on a crowded bus where we’re tired and i’m wondering what it would be like to see you sleep and you are wondering what it would be like to finally sleep again then i will settle for doubting you, at least i’m touching you. even if i have to wear gloves.