you told the boys from suburbia to love you
like the bleeding moon on a night wrought with stillbirth—
first, the canary’s song dies in its throat;
second, the smell of almonds on your own breath rips you
from the world;
third, your tongue shrivels in your mouth and dies
as they have their way with you.
but mama said
sacrifice like this
and love will come, smooth
grease on thirsty scalps. a sunday morning gospel
to signify a day’s hard work.
the boys from suburbia
cannot love you. you are not the same
color as forever. at every bus stop,
their hands spring out of yours, cacti
leaping from the dirt, every time
anyone with eyes
green as theirs passes by.
know how to steal—it’s in their blood.
hold your hands up child. reach for the closest love
unbloomed and paint it with your own colors
before the night unshelters its petals.
only under the thumb of twilight
will they claim you, toss your name
generously to the forlorn shadows and
declare their love to the thunderous
applause of dust.
Khalypso is a Sacramento-based activist, actor, and poet. They are fat, black, neurodivergent, queer and badass. Their work can be found in Calamus Journal, Drunk in a Midnight Choir, Rigorous Journal, Wusgood Magazine, and Shade Journal, as well as a few others. They are a Leo-Virgo cusp, they want to be your friend, and you can find them on Twitter at KhalypsoThePoet