andromeda
By Avery Dennison
she had freckles like constellations
and threw punches like she couldn’t make it
bracelets that hid scars and pupils that blinked stars
she threw a good right arm,
and yet she couldn’t fake it.
she was softer on me than all of the rest,
softer on me with all that fake breath
i wanted a challenge and she took to the test –
so she could talk to me, i guess.
in a puddle i met her family
an arm around my waist, a necklace for sixteen
years of travesties, of stark realities
only for her to shine
like half the galaxy.
my sighs didn’t make a good first impression,
but it wasn’t my fault her family came at me
with their passive aggression, homophobic possession
they laughed and called me a faggot
when it was their daughter with the fucking obsession.
why was i slurred out and shunned by her mother?
scoffed and turned about like i was somehow ‘otherwise’
to be despised, as though my attraction implied
that i loved her?
not after what she did.
and almost naturally, she has the audacity
to return to our heavens, and kiss me.
could
i
love
her?
well, that’s a fucking no brainer.
god, i miss the times when we were strangers.