Poetry Is Just The Evidence Of Life

It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way about anyone.

I can’t begin to say what I feel.

I adore you, I do.

But I can’t risk to ruin what we have just because of the way I feel.

You mean so much to me, and I adore you dearly.

I can’t stop thinking about you in so many ways that go beyond the physical.

I can’t help but think about what it would be like if things were different.

I know you’ll most likely read this, and that’s fine.

I just hope it won’t change anything between us.

I just needed you to know that I do love and care for you in more ways than one.

I think about you when I’m listening to Leonard Cohen or reading something by Anthony Bourdain.

I think about you when I see a bouquet of pink and white flowers.

I see the stars on the nights where a full moon is to be, and I think about you.

I see the beauty in the world, and I see you.

I see pastries sitting next to a cup of coffee with a cigarette on the side, and it reminds me of you.

I can’t help but find myself thinking of you.

These are the words I can’t say to you, my dove.

I talked to God last night.

Something I never thought I’d ever do again in the past fifteen years.

Told him I was lost and needed help.

Had a cigarette in my mouth and asked him not mind it.

I explained that I was alone again, that I was in need of help, and in need of some guidance.

I don’t think he heard me.

I don’t think he cared.

I don’t even know why I went to him.

I think I was just needing someone to talk to that would at least be of divinity.

Maybe it’s something else. I don’t know.

All I know is that I’m not feeling any better.

I don’t know where I’m going, or who I am, or how I even begin to be where I need to be.

All I know is where I’ve been.

But, after I finished my talk to God, I looked at the moon. It looked like a smile.

I think he heard me but he laughed at me in the process.

I don’t think God listens. He just loves to make a mockery of human existence and pain.

Do you think that the last thing Jesus smelled was the same wood he used to work on projects with?

That every time Joeseph nailed two pieces of wood together, he’d be thinking about what the Roman’s would do to his son?

That Mary would get flashbacks to swaddling her baby while wrapping him up in his burial shroud?

Love doesns’t feel real anymore. Not in an, “it’s not obtainable” way, but in a, “people have resorted to hedonism” way. Not that that isn’t a good thing for most people, but for me, I need a connection. Not waking up the next morning alone, and trying to piece together the night before. Not at some bar where I can barely hear the person next to me. I’m not asking for some prince on a horse to sweep me off my feet.

I’m not asking for a relationship with a yes man. I’m only asking for a deeper cnnection.

I don’t care about your favorite colors. I don’t care about the small talk. I don’t care about your ego.

I wanna know if deep down you do indeed believe that you are indeed a good person. I wanna know what your dreams are. I wanna know about your opinions on the universe, time, and love. I wanna know what you love to do when there’s no one but you around. I wanna know more about you.

You as a person. Your childhood. Your teenage years. You.

Were things different then than they are now? Are you where you want to be? Are you where you thought you’d be? Or is everything so different that you’re still adjusting?

To the state of Mississippi, are you aware as to how many suicides this bill is going to cause?

Hell, are you aware as to how much blood is going to be on your hands from this?

This isn’t just about “trans kids mutilating themselves,” this is about how it’s legal murder.

You’re no better than any serial killer before you. Matter of fact, you’re able to do the same shit that they did, but worth a legal go ahead.

I’m not disappointed, as I too live in the south. But, you’re the reason the south gets stereotyped so damn bad and why people want leave not only you but, Texas, Florida, Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, and many more. You’re the fear of what’s to come next.

You’re a goddamned disappointment to the Untied States. Your hateful propaganda and then some, might just spark a war within states. And when it does, I hope your state is first.

God and or whoever help those who either aren’t going to be okay, never recover from this, or who can’t help but live within your confines of your state. I hope to whoever that they believe in, that they’ll be okay.

And god help you for the embarrassment you are and have always been.

I know I can’t be a dad.

I know I could never give my son a life without anxiety.

I know I could never give my son a life that every kid deserves.

A life without having to worry about if he’ll make it home okay.

A life without having to worry about the next Armageddon.

A life that is filled with a loving world.

I knew I wanted a son when I was young.

I knew I wanted a son to throw a ball around with.

I knew I wanted a son to teach about the ins and outs of a car.

I knew I wanted a son to teach life lessons to.

I knew I wanted a son to give the love that I wasn’t give to.

I guess it just wasn’t in the cards for me.

But Heaven knows that’s all I wanted.

I mourn the son I know I’ll never be able to have.

I mourn the son I know I won’t be able to hold.

I mourn the son I wanted.

I mourn the son I deserved.

I mourn the son I never had.

I haven’t felt clean in forever

It’s not that I don’t care to.

It’s not that I don’t take care of myself.

It’s the fact that no matter what I do

I can’t feel clean.

I have scars that make me feel disgusting.

I scrub myself bare just to ease the feeling.

It never works, but it makes a good distraction.

At least, sometimes.

I’m trying to stop feeling so dirty.

Nothing’s working.

I’m scared that I’ll always feel dirty.

I know it’s irrational, but I can help it.

I haven’t felt clean in years.

Maybe it’s permanent.

I’ve had a fair amount of time with you.

We’ve had a lot of fun. At least, in your eyes.

I gave you a lot of my time.

I let you have your way with me.

To do as you pleased, whenever you wanted me. 

I found you at a really young age.

You took me in with your warmth, and never bothered to leave.

I didn’t want you to.

Not then. At least. 

Then, it got worse. 

You made me have a short fuse.

You made me feel as though I couldn’t get through the day without you.

You made me lose myself in the worst ways possible.

You gave up on me when all I could do was depend on you.

And only you.

I pushed away friends, family, and my own mental health for you.

I gave you myself, and it still wasn’t enough.

You were cruel.

You were once warm, and then you grew cold on me.

You treated me like a joke.

A sick, worn out, overdone, and overused joke. I was your punchline. 

I got on my knees for you, and all you did was wrap your hands around my throat, pin me to the ground, and laugh at me.

I knew then that I had to quit you. Before you’d kill me. 

I’m still stuck to you, thanks to the curveballs that life threw at me. 

But, now you’re less worse than before.

I only deal with you now.

I no longer have to depend on you. 

I thought that you were the only thing in life that would keep me going. 

It was late one night. 

I had a hell of a day and it was filled with trauma. 

I must’ve passed by five churches at least. 

The cathedral scared me the most. 

I remembered the horror I felt when my grandfather dragged me there. 

I was a child, but the preachings of hell, the fact that certain people were free from sin. 

It all flooded.

My lover must have noticed. 

As she took my hand and lead me to the bedroom. 

“Exposure therapy” is what she claimed.

As she came back with nothing but her father’s rosary on her neck. 

She came over to me. 

I touched her skin softly. 

Slowly trading places with her on the bed and me watching, slowly joining. 

Things started to become hot and heavy.

We were close to cumming, so I grabbed the rosary, choking her in the process, and softly whispered, “you go down like Holy Mary.”

We both came shortly after. 

It was a bright spring afternoon. 

I promised myself that once the time was right, I’d make my darling a garden. 

A garden filled with many flowers and maybe trees. 

I went to the local flower nursery and picked out every flower and tree that reminded me of her. 

There were so many options, and I just had to have them all. 

I loaded them all into my trunk and took them home. 

To my best of luck, my love was still asleep. 

I got straight to work, plotting every flower, tree, and herb correctly, and to her liking. 

I was proud of my work and she came out to see what I was doing. 

“Dear?”

“Yes?”

“What is all of this? Don’t get me wrong, I adore it all, but why?”

“Remember in the winter when I made a promise that I’d make you a garden, similar to the Garden of Eden?”

“I do.”

“This, my love, is your Garden of Eden.”

“It’s all mine?”

“Every tree, flower, and herb is yours, my love.”

“I love it. How did you-?”

“The flower nursery was in bloom.”

“I love it, but not as much as I love you.”

“I’m glad you adore it.”

She kissed me and then we wandered around the garden, naming every plant. 

I named the daffodils after her, as they are my favorite flower.

She named the Virginia Bluebells after me for they were hers. 

Overhead, a dove and a bluebird flew.

My heart wasn’t open before. 

Sure, I loved things and my friends. 

I was okay by myself too. 

One day, everything changed.

She came into my cold world.

She awoke something in me.

Flowers bloomed and birds sang for the first time.

Spring has come into my Autumn mist world.

Colors are brighter than ever.

Life is a lot more vibrant.

I still don’t know how to love correctly.

I know I’ll make mistakes.

But as long as I have faith in my heart and show my love,

I finally found my lover 

She’s patient, caring, and kind.

She doesn’t care that I’m traumatized by life and love. 

She hates those who inflicted it on me.  She's a great lady and a wonderful dancer.

Her heart is big and made of gold. 

I sometimes feel like I don’t deserve her.

For she is too good for this world.

I adore her so much.

I adore her so much, it hurts.

The day that we got together, I wondered if it was true, that you could love someone more than life.

Now I know that it’s more than that. And for once, I’m not scared to be in love.

She made everything so beautiful.

I met a boxer last night. 

I watched him conquer the ring. 

I admired his dedication to honor. 

I also admired his southpaw. His right hook wasn’t too bad either. 

After the fight was over, he came over and talked to me. 

“So, what did you think?”

“You’re a great fighter.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Mind if I walk you home?”

“Not at all…”

“Tony. Short for Antonio.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“Of course.”

We talked about everything. 

Favorite movies, shows, and what inspired us to do the things we do.

“So, what got you into boxing?”

“Take a guess.”

“I’d say that you watched the Rocky movies at a young age, and being from Philadelphia, it left a lasting impression on you, and you want to be just like the Italian Stallion.”

“You’d be correct. Now, what about you?”

“I wrote a short story when I was nine, didn’t pick up poetry until a few years later, and now it’s a passion.”

“I like that. It goes to show that things happen for a reason.”

“Thank you. You’re not too bad for a boxer.”

“You’re not bad of a poet either.”

“You’ve read my work?!”

“I have! I love the way you write people.”

“Well…would you like to be a muse of mine?”

“I’d love to.”

I smiled, and we found a spot to sit and look at the stars. 

“I always loved the stars.”

“Really?”

“I like to think that they’re the old gods watching over us. What about you?”

“I like to think that they’re writers of times past watching over us.”

“That’s really cute, actually.”

“Thank you.”

Everything went back to silence again.

Tony pulled me closer to him. I put my head on his shoulder.

Tony then moved in front of me.

“Can I kiss you? You don’t have to kiss back if you, y’know…”

“Please.”

His kiss wasn’t rough, like I imagined.

It was soft, sweet, and gentle.

After Tony pulled away, I still had my arms around him. 

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, keep them there. I like this.”

“Me too.”