to all the boys i've loved and will love

part i
the gold earring underneath your bed is actually a port key
now if you don't know what a port key is
please refer to the 4th installment of harry potter
a portkey is an object that transports someone from one place to another
just by touching it

back to this gold earring though
we'd spent that november morning in bed
when i noticed its metallic smile shimmering from the shadows
upon closer observation
tracing the edges of its unfamiliar shape
i was transported back to every time i received a lie
oblivious or suspicious
pre-packaged or naked
freshly coated with gold or rust
there is a room in my mind that hosts all of this deception
boxes of lonely jewelry missing its other half
the stench of perfumed bedsheets
this is where all those deleted texts and voicemails go to hide
where skeletons feast on fireflies
where grapes grow thick and heavy
and i can't wait for sweetness
i want the truth as sour as it comes
but there you go again
rolling through a rolodex of laminated phrases
it was always excuses and never reasons

part ii

after playing mom to 3 different boys
i've learned to be selfish
yet
there is a point in every relationship when i unlearn this

falling back into old patterns like
grooves sliding into familiarity
gut feelings become familiar
eels swim up my intestinal tracts as i send out doves every 30 days
we are noah's ark on repeat
repetitive like loading clips into guns
and waiting for the familiar cock to crack silence

there is a point in every relationship when i fall
into the cracks lining your palms
when i want to know more about you
than you know about me
because love only feels right with collateral

it only feels right when i'm being ignored
when fidelity is put on hold
and trust is postponed

this is the only kind of love i've ever known

but i want to know familiar like
scars and birthmarks
like the freckle under your eye
your eyes are two circular amber anchors
i am sinking and falling back into old patterns
familiar like our bodies are everchanging rubiks technology
when everything always fits

part iii

to you, acknowledging history is voyeurism
i used to watch my mother finger through a dining room table
plastered with cellphone bills and receipts
you could have mistaken her for a detective
trying to catch those fireflies swimming between bedsheets and passenger seats
burning black holes into her heart
like cigarette burns into arms and armchairs

what made you think it was okay to lie
to feed me salt instead of sugar
when you knew i didn't know the difference

part iv

every night
i cut the moon in half
and give you the bigger piece