(an ongoing piece detailing my weak spine)
- I would lose my sight to the sun before I blink and miss it again.
- Thinking is something I’ve always done, but can you believe that the earth rotates without a thought? As I think until I become nothing, the earth keeps turning.
- I haven’t considered you in so long that you became another universe: untouchable and foreign, like a stranger on the street. Yet I remember how you spoke when your grandpa died, and the way you would talk about home. Not quite a poet, but your words came together the same way.
- I am still lonely, but I made it to twenty-three.
- Your words feel cut and dry, like any poem found in the beginning of a paper thin novella. You think: “Speak and they will listen,” but its all been said before. A curse of the human condition.
- At sunset: “Look at the sky!”
But you’re always too late, my voice miles away, the day turned to night.
- Touch is a love language you don’t know how to speak and all I can do is beg for you to talk, talk, talk.
- I’ve never felt more like a second thought than when you remind me of your first.
- Nothing makes me feel less beautiful than when you close your eyes, touch me, and sigh.
- And with your soul to match my sadness I think I will be okay. Your light will help outshine my dark.
(to be continued…)
Will you think of me when
this world turns to dust?
or will it all be too much?
I will scream
I get drunk only to say the things that I wish to say when sober.
With sobriety comes responsibility, and I don’t want to be responsible for the silence that follows the stream of love that will flow out of my mouth and onto the floor.
I don’t want to remember how you watch me try and clean the permanent stains my words have left on the carpet of your mind.
And so I drink, and I love you.
Leave and see what the rest of the world has to offer you.
Move to a city that feels like another country, even if it’s in the same state.
Face the people who point out your differences with their eyes.
Discover living in a world where timing is everything, especially during rush hours.
Make an amount of money that seemed out of reach before.
Realize that said money isn’t even enough to pay an electricity bill.
Feel lonely in a room full of people because no one smiles at strangers.
Figure out that diversity doesn’t mean acceptance.
Experience suburban claustrophobia.
Dream about the beauty you grew up ignoring.
Go home and remember you were lucky.
(Here’s a poem that reflects my consistent internal dialogue!)
I can’t tell you what I feel like because
Even I don’t know what I feel like;
It’s more of a mess of colors like,
Blues and reds
With hints of green,
But only because your eyes are green,
And this is coming off kind of strong but
Did you know you say all the right things sometimes?
But all the wrong things the other times,
And although you don’t always listen,
When you do listen,
And that means more than you know,
Or I know
Or they know—
Look I don’t know how to end this
Or stupid run on sentence,
Just like I don’t know how to tell you
“I love you” or
that I’m lost when you’re absent.
From: Me, in the middle of the Pride Parade
June 10, 2017
It hurt me to know that
There was more love for you
Amongst thousands of strangers
Than in your own home.
I wanted to cry when I saw
Families proclaim their pride
For their sons and daughters,
Because it’s what you deserved.
I’m sorry I can’t change your family’s mind;
They don’t know what they’re missing.
A noise reverberates in the emptiness that exists
In the space where you end and I begin.
It’s a ringing with a pitch high enough that if you don’t
stop and listen hard enough, you would miss it.
Sometimes I hear this noise in the moments before your
Breath gets deeper and you fall asleep,
Sometimes I hear it when you stop kissing me just long
Enough to look at me and smile.
Tonight my ears are ringing with the sound of us,
And it’s like I’ve never heard music before.