The Slightest Inconvenience
by Jacynth Apora
You gave me a small silver music box and I dropped it on my foot. The two tiny bruises - blue, covered in an imprint of faint red like a blush because I won't stop icing it with just my cold thumbs - remind me of your eyes; especially when you don't sleep so your hands warm me up and wake me up and all I can do is blush - you say you look up to me, so why do I feel subservient to you? It’s a little harder to walk.
There are vampire fangs on my bitten down pinky. The bite is too deep, there’s a sunset red lining the edge of my nail that is a natural shade of tickle-me-pink. Be my parasite, the neon red signs of pharmacies late at night. Tickle the numbness away, make me laugh, make me feel like a child without being condescending. I ask for too much, I know, but I'm not asking for rubies on my birthday. I'm asking you to make me happy, to not hurt me. When I press the skin against my pinky's nail, it stings.
My eyes mutate into the jaw of a shark, as I see the carnage that we are. We crave the blood red that is pumped from stubborn hearts and poured into a wine glass, but we don't drink. We don't need alcohol to feel and act the way we do. We dance to the melody of the broken music box.
I make a wish on the sharpest tooth, which used to be an eyelash stuck in my eye. I wish that I wouldn’t fear you anymore, that I won't fear to love you just as much as I won't fear to leave you. I wish that I wouldn’t fear the mistakes I'm bound to make and the pride that sometimes is rightfully mine.
You gave me a small silver music box and I dropped it on my foot. The two tiny bruises - blue, covered in an imprint of faint red like a blush because I won't stop icing it with just my cold thumbs - remind me of your eyes; especially when you don't sleep so your hands warm me up and wake me up and all I can do is blush - you say you look up to me, so why do I feel subservient to you? It’s a little harder to walk.
There are vampire fangs on my bitten down pinky. The bite is too deep, there’s a sunset red lining the edge of my nail that is a natural shade of tickle-me-pink. Be my parasite, the neon red signs of pharmacies late at night. Tickle the numbness away, make me laugh, make me feel like a child without being condescending. I ask for too much, I know, but I'm not asking for rubies on my birthday. I'm asking you to make me happy, to not hurt me. When I press the skin against my pinky's nail, it stings.
My eyes mutate into the jaw of a shark, as I see the carnage that we are. We crave the blood red that is pumped from stubborn hearts and poured into a wine glass, but we don't drink. We don't need alcohol to feel and act the way we do. We dance to the melody of the broken music box.
I make a wish on the sharpest tooth, which used to be an eyelash stuck in my eye. I wish that I wouldn’t fear you anymore, that I won't fear to love you just as much as I won't fear to leave you. I wish that I wouldn’t fear the mistakes I'm bound to make and the pride that sometimes is rightfully mine.
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