You, And the rest

You only come when you're called
Have you noticed?

You burn hot like a poison cheetoh when you hear your name

Or if you catch a sideways glance

a whisper

a subtle gesture

a word

that’s when you’re at your best

You come running 

with "pick me" energy 

and all the ear candy a girl can stand

nothing is off limits

everything is good

Oh boi

it pricked once - 

watching you choose others

heavy with excuses

You loved me so and forever. 

You said.

So why is it

you needed a golden engraved invitation, 

sirens and trumpets and fanfare,

To express this love? 

Crickets sang me to sleep every night

unless I sleptwalked into your DMs.

(Aren’t you even a little embarassed? I know I am.)

Go on and bury that bone in whatever yard is furthest from mine.

You tell on yourself so much that I grow old now, boi.

Lately, I sip tea on the porch and predict your fate.

You’ll be fine. That's the annoying part. 

Old dogs don’t learn new tricks.

But, my dear,  

bitches bite.

Scabs

Scabs I
-C. Castro

Scabs I pick at include:

The ones on my head
especially the ones that come out with a hair in the bullseye
which always causes me to look over my shoulder.

The one from the curling iron burn
because it's taking too long to heal and
the crust wants help

The one on my knee that's technically a rug burn
That when I flick at the dead dark skin
I always grin because I know and
now you know too

The one from the popped pimple on my back that I secretly fear may be 

the beginning of my slow death

The one from my elbow where I fell and got back up
I do not recall the falling or the why
Only that my elbow hurt for weeks
And the skin was so thick
So much thicker than a regular scab
I removed it repeatedly for weeks
Then one day - poof -
my normal every day elbow

Of all my most unseemly compulsions,
there is always you
a little patch of heart sore
nearly healed then newly scratched-
a stigmata of love.

Two headed witch

 🧙🧙‍♂️

I like when the two headed witch smiles at me, 

she thinks I don't know 

he questions if I do

I like when the two headed witch smiles at me 

with her face held taught, 

and his eyes all blank 

and his eyebrows raised 

always in deception 

I like when the two headed witch smiles at me 

believing she has tricked me into seeing her form 

as she she shifts from her demon to his human form

I like when the two headed witch smiles at me 

it always confirms what I already know 

that they walk among us 

they always have.

Hidden Heart

 Somewhere in that menagerie of keepsakes

between that rock you thought didn't belong down by the Native brook

because you said it belonged in salt water,

with confidence, 

because growing up by the ocean has turned you into a marine geologist

So you put it in the drawer with the broken arrow and the blue beetle and a hair tie you got from that little girl who grew up so fast that the hair tie is one thing she may still need from you

and the broken sea glass

and the splintered pencils

and string 

and toothpicks

and the gum wrapper from the day those  braces came off

In that drawer with no inventory, 

no index, no labels 

just a lot of sand and dirt

hiding behind a black treasure-

you know and I know it-

is where you left your heart

one summer day when you could no longer stand to feel it beating inside you 

from all the hurt 

So you tattooed it onto your back where you could forget it

So it could live in a place where memory does not thrive 

It's in that drawer, _______.

You know it and I know it.

when will you reach for it?

11/19/2023

(written for... you know who you are)

Saturday Night Retrospective

He was unto a Golden God 
at a time when everyone sought High Vibes
At a time when America was fun. 
When I was too young to understand the
naughty 
raunchy
bawdiness of it all,
but old enough to be there.
Old enough to witness the gyrating, 
the laughter, the sweatiness, the tight pant,
the way
everyone
               glistened.

Then America - that America 

was confident, boisterous 
revelling in polyester pants. 
And this beautiful man:
he was It. he was All.
he was a spinning top 
beautiful supernova.
The best part of being an American male.
A movie icon.
He embodied in one dance an entire feel-good summer for a generation. 
And now when he flickers onto my screen
I wonder 
“where did all that go?”
Corporations got greedy 
the people were needy.
That boy is older now, and he too, 
can see, 
the loss of that time.
When America, on a Saturday night,
was everything 
Running around and looking good
Feeling good and being free.
A time when you could sparkle without fear to weigh you down 
A time when Saturday night was for showing off
For laughing too hard and coming home late 
He reminds me
When Saturday night was for dancing. 

The vampire weeps

 If I said I am dying to drink from your fountain

would you slice yourself open for my benefit

oozing like a ruby red grapefruit?

would you shed each drop in an arioso of charming crescendos upon the xylophone that is the foyer travertine?

would you crawl to my waiting stiletto in supplication or 

resignation

or something else?

Looking like desire but smelling of desperation?

would you?

would you be silent knowing there is no plea to reverse your fate?

tell me, 

compass-less lover,

would you comprehend why you surrendered?

If I said I was dying to drink from your fountain 

I'd be a liar.

the vampire 

waits.

Death of Love

Giving up on love changes you
It slows you down
Even your pulse 

Bodily functions turn against you
Especially your digestion
Weight sees no reason to burn
Nothing burns,
Especially not your imagination,
Which used to run ahead like a child 
At a feverish pace
Gathering fancy frocks and bright lipsticks
To be the prettiest at the daydream
Your eyes even become fixed
A steady sage stare
Especially good for discerning the things you'd missed all those years
The way the crickets have multiplied
The starlings are disturbed by the weather
The way the house creaks and cracks like a splintered ship run aground
The books you can now focus on

Your thoughts plucking words like flowers to adorn your dreams

A wreath of sonnets and novels

An Easter bonnet of tales

For the long dark hours 

Especially for the way your body wants only rest. 

So tired now 

So utterly tired.