Stranger Beauty

I can see your black hair
and gray eyes,
your crooked fingers
and broken nails.
Your spine bends
near the top
as if you can’t bare the sight
of today.

Yours is a stranger beauty.

I chew on my thick brown hair
until it is heavy and hangs,
wet strands over my shoulders.
My lips are dry and sore
from the constant
talk talk talk
of how I could make
everything easier by
getting up
and getting away.

This is a familiar beauty.

You can see right through
the contacts in my eyes
and know that I can’t actually
hide
behind thin craters of plastic–
soft, soft as rain
but easier to hold.

My fingers fit
in the holes of your face,
the scars from drinks
long ago consumed
and burns from
falling too hard
on foreign pavement.

There is nothing beautiful
about this city
except that we are beautifully
wrecked in the same places.

Hold onto my shoulder please,
because I think I might
slip through this realm of
consciousness
into an easier state of being.

As easily as I came into this world,
I could more easily leave.

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