Aphrodite

 Something she possesses, 

this strange blend of a girl 

reaching for woman 

                                                                just like me. 

She eats rubies for breakfast 

swallows them whole 

and never blushes.

                                                                Where can I find it? 

She struts, her boots clunk on the pavement. 

She speaks as herself as silk pours from 

her seamless words. Her lips are pure fire. 

                                                                Where is it? 

Her glasses shape her face like 

a painting’s frame, and her legs are so long, 

her breasts are so round, and the 

dragon tattoo on her back is moving 

sliding up and around her neck 

to those ears that stick out in 

just the right way, an unusual perfection, 

and her eyes are 

red red red. But her hair is a short black 

rose, and her fingernails drip 

silver, those pointed weapons, and the metal sticking 

through her nose shines like a sword, a diamond. 

                                                                I need it. 

A hard diamond sword with rays like the 

                                sun that pokes his head out, looks down 

                                on me as my brown eyes search 

                                for a lavender 

                                among a sea of violets: 

                                an elusive game 

                                that has lasted 

                                years, my life. 

                                I am playing against myself 

                                searching for what she possesses 

                                as her sharp sword gleams above me 

                                and the sun is going down 

                                fast 

                                and wings boom 

                                in my head. 

                                My hands are racing around 

                                grabbing at every flower in sight pulling 

                                too many at once and they die and 

                                the sun descends another foot laughing- 

                                When, oh! 

                                The lavender, it grows from 

                                my fingertips out of 

                                my head through my 

                                chest and the black rose 

                                circles around me 

                                and I have no more breath left 

                                and now the light is gone 

                                and I hear the doomed wings 

                                and coldness falls on my skin and 

                                for a moment, 

                                I am unsure, 

                                about such 

                                deep, deep darkness- 

                                who am i? 

                                It lasts for just a moment 

                                and then the sun is up anew, 

                                silent, and 

                                the day is gloriously bright. 

                                The flowers are gone, 

                                she is gone, 

                                and I can see. 

                                My eyes are still brown, I am 

                                still me. 

                                And in my left hand 

                                I hold a diamond sword

About the Author

Caitlyn Somers is a senior English major at Arcadia University. Caitlyn aspires to be a college professor and desires to (eventually) publish a book of poetry. She loves watching random dance choreography videos on Youtube (and crying because she wishes she could dance without looking like a dork), exploring nature, experiencing all forms of art, inhaling ice cream, and playing with dogs. She once travelled to London, Spain, and Paris, but was completely unimpressed with the variety of cultures. She is aware that her jokes are bad. Caitlyn is obsessed with words: when she was little and she used to play soccer, she would stand in the middle of the field during an intense game, and scribble words in the air. Her parents and teammates were always confused, and told her to pay attention. She reluctantly listened. As she transitioned into adulthood, she began to embrace her fascination with words. She always tries to find the right one, and when she fails to do so, she is beyond frustrated. So it goes.