Zaria Ware

I have never been in love, but I have felt it.


etch onto my face,
I told him,
the markings of the
using only your fingers


my nose will
become Venus
the peak of my chin

glass hands

I always believed him to be an enigma,

created by gentle hands made of glass
fingers that felt as cold as porcelain
warm as night
arms with hidden muscles contorting
his frame
a petal like mouth speaking to a
figure that would not listen
nostrils that inhale death and exhale
eyes would be given that whispered
his life despite his best attempts
to remove them
he told me that he had been born
of a mother as delicate as the sea
with skin colored milky white and
acerbic distaste for the man that created
the boy I liked to call friend
but I still thought of him as
a created product shipped
carefully by gentle hands made of glass
and not by a mother that did
not love him like
I did.

  • award winning by Zaria Ware


pass me that glass of brandy dear,
he said,
and his pleading tones
reminded me of bleeding
because his drinking dissolves him

I am his sister though I cannot
distract him with toys any longer
he eyes the bottle like
a child in a candy store
pass me, bring me, take me
are his words of choice
and this amber liquid that
burns so well has
him by the neck

brother, I want to say, do you
not love me anymore?
if it is the burning you desire to
distract you from the floor,
I can throw matches down your throat
brother, I can give you a glass full of mother's
buttons, but I cannot give you her

pass me, bring me, take me
away from this world where
you are a slave to a master

brother, you are bleeding,
I said.

(award winning by Zaria Ware) 
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