The night before my bestfriend's wedding

I am not a gentle breeze on a sun-kissed face, 

I am not a white sun-dress fluttering in the wind, 

nor perfect pined back hair. But a more slim

than curvy body in a baggy hoody and a short skirt.
I am grey’s favorite color. That is why you keep
calling me and not your soon-to-be to come get you.

I refuse to play pretend like your new bride.
Because I will never be surprised by the rush of
darkness that creeps upon the corner of your eyes after
you've drank too much. Nor that shocked that you are so

lost in sadness that you have no idea how visible it is.
Or, maybe you do. Which is why it is okay for a broken

window in December & tattered shoes wearing Imperfect
like me to push you into the truck and drive us away

It is okay for me to see your Ugly because I am the naked

tree limb that passes us by & the squawking black birds

that hang on them. I am neither a water-color sunsets

nor autumn's harvest moon. I am your favorite crooked

smile even when I am weary of people who want to make

me normal. But never make me normal

“We should have sex.” you are laughing, still conscience.
Third stop light from your house I reply
“No” I will always be your painful rejection.

But, just for you because I am not a white sun-dress,

& pined back hair. Perfect paradoxes & poignant

moments are profound & I apologize for my awkward silence

but not for the storm  that beats in my ribcage. Your hand

fits hot and heavy against my inner thigh just as I pull in to the drive.
The house is lit up and people moving around. 

You lean further into the moment between our time continuum-

that would take us back to our 16 year old moment.

Even without the tire-swing your nest is a painting I can never

get lost in. I look through the too narrow & stationary frame

& become the invisible ants crawling under your skin every time

you stumble fire whiskey through. I am not a gentle breeze

on a sun-kissed face I am not a white sun-dress fluttering in the wind,

nor perfect pined back hair. I am grey’s favorite color.

I refuse to play the pretend scared virgin.

I am not your soon to be bride. Because you will never be

surprised by the rush of  darkness that creeps upon the

corner of my eyes after I've drunk too much.
Nor will you ever be shocked that I get so lost in

sadness that at times I have no idea how visible it is.
Or, maybe I do. Which is why it is okay for me to drive this
truck in December even with the passenger window broken

I am another woman’s wear tattered shoes. I am swallowed in her

hoody. It may be imperfect for me to remove your hand, kiss you

on the cheek all the while pushing you out the door & on to your

good intentions. I get away from your perfect built Hell 

nonetheless with a smile that makes knowing a single

phone call is all it takes to bring me back worth it.