B DOES POETRY

Murderous rabbits. A phenomenon not often seen in the wild. However, the idea is no longer as far-fetched as cinema made it seem. You were so meek and scared all the time and in protecting yourself, you hurt everyone who tried to touch you. I could never be like you. To hurt others in such a survivalist attempt is a rhetoric I can never get behind, and it will keep everyone away from you. It is a lonely place to be, darling. And after being in your wake of fear, I will never again see you as kind or fluffy as you pretend to be. Be kinder to the next one.

Why am I afraid of ghosts? Not without reason, let me tell you.  They creep up on you until you see them everywhere. On your walk to work, the hipster grocery near your apartment, in your own home. Shadows in the wall. You're watching these things through a curtain you cannot pass, and thinking to yourself all that you would say if only your voice could reach. Wanting to scream at your walls in your own home. But, instead, you stand, warily watching that shadow go about its haunting until the silence is too grating a noise to bear. So you walk away and wonder if she even sees you at all.

It is my firm and passionate belief that every person on this planet needs to own a good pair of boots. There is something incredibly grounding about a solid pair of boots. It places one’s feet solidly and firmly upon this earth and makes your steps steady and clean. I got my first pair of good boots from a collection of old LL Bean gift cards from an uncle who loved me very much and didn’t know me at all. I will pull these over my feet on the days that I am floating. On the days when every feeling is reachable through three feet of solid glass, I lace up my boots and feel a little closer to the ground. On the worst days, I tie them as tight as I can to see if the needles that pinch my nerves will bring me down. These boots do not fix everything. They make my feet sweat and the laces don’t stay tied. They don’t bring feeling back completely the way I want them to. Somedays I can’t wait to take them off. But they’ve molded to my feet and they keep the rain off of my mismatched socks. They are sturdy and strong and can not run away. They are mine. They are good. Everyone should go get themselves some boots.

him: My happy place is somewhere in nature. It could be the summit of a mountain, or at the shore of a lake or river, or in the middle of the forest. I've got something to do, like a project to build, a book to read, or maybe nothing at all. I have a joint or a pipe or whatever. It's a warm day but not hot, just enough that either walking or sitting you are not cold. I'm usually alone, with the exception of a dog, and sometimes you or my little brother. We usually don't talk but we feel and enjoy the company of each other. If we do talk it stretches for hours as we debate or explain our ideas and dreams or banter. Eventually the sun sets and the stars come out. There are so many that you can't even pick out a constellation. I build a fire and just stare into it until it dies.

I want to worship you

He says he is not beautiful. I do not think he understands what beautiful means. He is enchanting to everyone he meets. He is a life barely contained by a body, a soul barely contained by skin. I wish he could see how beautiful his dynamic energy is. He is life and love and sunshine wrapped up in freckles and strong hands. I asked him if he knew the shade of sunlight that came through the leaves in the summer. If he'd ever drank bright lemonade or heard a song that makes all who hear it sway their hips. If he'd ever kissed a pair of lips that stop the world.  When he said yes, I told him: That's the kind of beautiful you are. All strength and brightness and light. The purest, kindest, most radiant kind of beautiful to ever land on this Earth.

Come here Curl into me and let me hold you The darkness is creeping but we can hide in here Come here I'll lay my head in your chest and you can hold me like I'm the precious thing that's ever been in your arms Nothing can Touch Us here Come here Let me hold your hand when the monsters break down our walls We can fight for each other and protect each other because we are the best team here Come here Because we've both spent too much time alone Come here Because my heart can't stand to be without its kindred spirit anymore.

Find safety in me. A dragon curls around my feeble frame, hidden deep inside the dark caverns of my mind. You are strong. There is blackness swirling around us, and I am forced onto my feet. Do not let this consume you. I still do not understand how I am standing yet again, there is a force pulling me deeper, trying to get me on my knees. But I am standing. And the dragon and I are together, using this soft shield to keep the smoke away. And blinding light comes from beneath our shield, and I am free. For today. But no matter what lurks inside these caves, that dragon will never leave my side. And I will stay beside him, during every storm inside his heart.

What possesses you? Sometimes I wonder how much of me you actually know. And how accurate is my perception of you? Let’s play a game. Let’s sit up late into the night with a flashlight and surrounded by blankets and each other and ask questions and answer questions. Let’s talk about what scares us and what excites us and how exactly you take your bagels in the morning. Because I want to memorize you. And I’ve never hated anything more than the secrets I have from you, if from omission or nerves or a forgotten note. Show me the parts of you I’m going to hate. And love me in everything that will bug the shit out of you about me. How often do you forget to brush your teeth? What’s one thing you won’t leave your house without? What would you say your strongest belief was in freshmen year of high school? And what is it now? What’s one song that stabs you in the chest every time you hear it? I have learned to read the expressions as they cross your hazel eyes and I want to see them all tonight. I want to find the questions and the stories and the answers that make that beautiful pure happy smile cross your face and I want to find the ones that steel your eyes with anger and the ones that stab your heart. It might be selfish and it might be too bold or too daring but I want to trace the lines on your arms as you tell me stories you forgot you had to tell. I don’t ever want to look at you and think that I’m looking at someone I don’t know. What is it that holds you tight? When you’re in the half light Let’s sit in the half light until we can see each other in the full, ugly, light. We can sleep in the morning.

Day I: He was a bright burst of orange, a burning fire Bathing in chamomile. Spouting silly lines and stilted small talk like a stream We both know that trickle of water is going to lead somewhere. Day II: He let me in today and while he may think he loses his sparkle "I still think you're the strongest person I know." I remind him, and he smiles at me like maybe no one has said that to him before The smell of milky tea never leaves the laundry room, or my memory Day III: He becomes the light and the dark and his singing orange far outshines any dark he could be afraid of showing When he comforts me, I can feel a puppy’s tail twirl around my heart, and when he says he loves me, it’s a comforting rub of the head And when he picks up the phone, it’s like I can smell his black tea through the phone Day IV: His smile is a literal sun beam as he stands in the hotel doorway The blue of his sweater makes my heart weak And the image of his silhouette in that glass door and his laughter shaking me in his arms Is something I’ll never forget Day V: The morning light illuminates our faces and something about this morning is different Our faces are so close and I can taste the beautiful tension so loud and bright All the confusion and worries and misunderstandings about my own brain melt into him And I never want to forget the taste of sleep and hot tea on his lips Day VI: The roughness of tee shirt I bought you last Christmas wraps me close like your arms do as I’m pulling it over my head You embrace me from behind and point to the construction cone out my 12th story window and we’re talking to your parents and spinning to the Beatles and everything is in full color I accidentally make you cry and we’re both reminded how scared we both are I make us a cup of tea from a too-old electric kettle that still works Day VII: As much as we pretend, we don’t know what tomorrow holds But God, do I hope it holds your dark chocolate orange black tea and the patterns in your freckles Your Spanish lullabies and me teaching you my sloppy waltz Let’s sit here in our fear and rewrite it until all we can hear is our love

It is October and I’m thinking… about Christmas Not this Christmas but Our Christmas Because I heard a Frank Sinatra song on the radio and was sent years into the future to the Christmases we will have together Because they will come and I can see it like a stream of photographs set to jazz music: Slip-sliding as we try to dance in fancy socks on hardwood floors, Waltz-y twirling with a puppy at our feet, Snow dribbling from the night sky, Stars leaving imprints on our eyelids as we shiver outside in the cold, Lady and the Tramp playing on the TV, soft white blankets encasing us, my kitten on my lap, People coming in and out of our apartment to see us, laughing at the happiness in our eyes, sitting down to eat and sing and be together, Candles reflecting off of the kitchen floor tile as we make pancakes in each other’s pajamas, Finally getting a mistletoe kiss, a New Year's kiss (which I've been dreaming about since I heard the word) that may or may not lead to clothes being strewn like wrapping paper on the living room floor, Tipping trees and ornaments that have stories and memories behind them. I can smell the pine and the cinnamon and everything warm and bright. You bring warmth and brightness into my life. So even if our Christmas doesn’t look anything like it does in my mind; Even if the music isn’t as romantically serene, Even if the blankets are scratchy and the movie has no talking dogs or singing cats, Even if our life doesn’t look quite like the romantic fool in my mind lets me dream it will, I’ll be happy if your lips are the ones I’m tasting, and your arms are what’s keeping me close at night. I once dated a girl who’s dreams for the future involved grandiose houses and maids and millions of children. While for the sake of her, I considered it, it was never something I wanted. My dreams aren’t the kind to expand much past the food I’m eating, the music I’m hearing, and the people I’m with. So I’ll never need much for my dreams with you to come true. All I ask is that you’re there to dance with me, while the food cooks nearby. I’ll even let you choose the song … sometimes.

The first love song that made me think of him was a story about the meeting of the sun and the moon. I saw him waltzing up to me in that college cafeteria in a golden suit, the picture of sunshine. And then there I was in swirling silver, quiet and smiling, the moon child. I accidentally turned this into our song way before I kissed him and we sung it together down back roads in his home town. He's always been my sun, even when he's been blinded by his own shine. And I'd like to believe that I am his moon, never waxing or waning in relation to the sunshine. A constant soft light in the darkest of nights and the brightest of days. A mirror, to reflect his brilliance back to him. The song ended and we kept whizzing through the hills of Salem and I could see sun bursting from his eyes and all I can hope is that he saw the moon's glimmer in my smile.

I’m scared of bees and bugs and becoming my father. I’m scared of being mean and being cold and being nice and being soft. I’m scared of becoming my mother. I’m scared of getting caught and of breaking up and breaking down and of losing you to the sands of time. I’m so scared of time. I’m scared of grief and death and endings and beginnings and not being able to fix something. I’m afraid of permanence and I’m afraid of forever. I’m afraid of failure, of messing up, of not being able to undo something. I’m afraid of hurting people. I’m afraid of crying in front of someone else and I’m afraid of pushing you away in a quest to keep you from all that there is to fear inside me. I’m afraid of being sensitive and of being unfeeling. I’m scared if you were to die I wouldn’t cry at your funeral. I’m scared if you were to leave I wouldn’t cry at the slamming door. I’m scared I don’t love my family. I’m scared I don’t love anyone. I’m afraid of pain and I’m afraid of destruction. I’m afraid I’ve been making up my mental illness and that its not real. I’m scared it is real and that I have to handle it. I’m afraid of living. I’m afraid of this life and that I don’t want it anymore. I’m scared I’m not as smart as everyone thinks. I’m scared that if I was given the choice between mental health and ease, I wouldn’t make the right choice. I’m scared I’ll always be self destructive and I’m scared that someday I won’t be. I’m scared that I’ll come on too strong and of not loving you loud enough. I’m scared that I’m doing everything wrong. I’m scared of valuing myself and scared of not. I’m afraid of being feminine and of being masculine. I’m scared that I’ve seen nothing and I’m scared that I’ve seen everything. I’m scared that who I am isn’t worth living. I’m scared that I won’t be able to protect you from all that will hurt you. I’m scared that if I were given the choice to save someone else over myself I wouldn’t chose them. I’m scared that I can’t sing and I’m scared that I am missing something in my lists of all that is wrong with me. I’m scared that no one actually loves who I am. I’m scared that I don’t know who I am in the first place. I’m terrified that one day all that is good in my life will just go away. I’m scared that I’m right about you and that I’m wrong. I’m scared that I’ll take advantage of all that you’ve given me and I’m scared that you don’t mean it. I’m scared that one day the loud music won’t be loud enough to keep them all away. I’m scared that the darkness is coming back and this time it will consume me. I’m scared that I can’t do this again this year and I’m scared of who I’ll be if I can. This is what I mean when I say that I’m So Scared. The list changes and grows and merges but never shrinks. The question becomes not if but when it will overtake me.

1. he's got me falling chest first into the ocean of hope and it is stretching its arms out for me. It welcomes me home and I am still scared but it is ok. 2. i'm a child carrying a starry night in my palms to his mother, gleeful in the beauty he's discovered. 3. part of me wonders if im scared that my pain will scare him away. I should've learned by now that pain doesn't scare him. 4. I know the mirror takes the beauty of living and turns it into evil. I'm going to write him a book on all that is beautiful and read it to him until I'm louder than the mirror and louder than the voices that breathe darkness inside his brain.