by Marisa Adame
my favorite kind of light emanates from smiles,
bounces off refractions of a well-timed joke
sparking into synapses enjoying a heartfelt
i am crystallized
by light // smiles that fill up my blood cells
and carry them into other atmospheres.
you make me feel loopy
like i’ve been living off helium,
too good to be true
my worship for you knows no rest.
when you have caught me in the séance of your being
you turn the pavement between us concave.
and as we fly, you somehow still soar higher
meeting with the sky and doling out your light.
bright giggles bubble below
to where i stand watching
still half-hidden beneath shadow and grim
family disapproval sinking on my skin
like the illness they make my
bisexuality out to be.
if only they could see the light that plays inside your irises.
if only they weren’t blinded
by ancient Gods who still are only human-made.
finally, a happy poem
i don't want to forget me
nestled among flower petals like thumbelina,
germinating until the coming spring.
it was just a dream,
the year that made me ache for a flora mattress on a forest floor.
was going to be a good morning //
a rejuvenating breath of fresh air.
a warm wish inside soft arms
and slim hips.
i was going to be a star,
warmth nestled brightly among pollen and stems.
i was going to be born on the 11th of May
in the light of the dawn
breaking through the cusp of night and morning
but i bumped into you on the way down from heaven;
became human again at the sight of your blush.
i went to sleep inside a spring frozen over from winter and only just beginning to smile.
i am awake now;
i am awake //
thank you for sharing //
Marisa Adame, demi/bi Latinx storyteller/creative from Dallas, Texas, spends days as the light and the mirror. She aims to one day cultivate a gladiola garden. You can find her on YouTube, Instagram, on her official Facebook page, and at marisaadame.com.