About A Boy

Shine

Untitled (11/4/17, 1:54 PM)

I’ve got some exciting news to share in the coming week!!!

I have no love poems to give you. All I have are sheets of mosaics Made from shattered glass, Pieces of me I tried to will whole again. Line after line, I write, and I write, Attempting to stitch myself up With this pen. I have poems documenting every heartbreak I’ve ever experienced. I have poems describing every fucked up thing in my childhood. I have poems detailing how I got better but never good enough, How loving myself isn’t the cure-all for what ails me, How I just find new ways to feel broken. I have no love poems to give you, Because I gave the words away with my mouth and my body, Before I could capture them in ink. They line the trashcans of every boy I tried to make a home of, Like a raven's nest left undisturbed and unread. I thought they would come back to me. I thought if I loved myself and I gave some of me away, It would come back. I thought that if I freed myself from my imagined sins, The things that haunt me would go back. I thought that if I learned to love myself, Someone would learn to love me back. So, I have no love poems to give you. I don’t know what true love feels like Except to set myself on fire for a boy Who will only baptize me in gasoline. All I have are ruins of a sunken city Damp from salt water and unrequited feelings. All I have are memories cast in silver Rewatching the plot twists to find the foreshadowing. All I have is a beaten-up tornado shelter Rusty with age and too much use. All I have are two hands and two feet That keep on reaching and progressing, Believing that there is something better. Even though I have no love poems to give you, I am not saying I don’t know how to love. I’m saying that maybe I’m bad at love, And maybe I’ll never truly feel loved, And maybe I haven’t changed much since I left my mother’s womb, flailing in a world I don’t know, But I do know that I’m not afraid to love. I wear my heart on my sleeve, My own badge of honor for all the battles fought and lost. I polish the dust off, and proudly show my scars, Unafraid and unapologetic. “I love you,” has never felt like a curse to me, It always felt like a prayer, Every penny I’ve ever thrown into the well And every wish I could never tell. When I say, I love you, I mean that I would move mountains Just to catch a glimpse of your sunrise smile. That I would dive to the bottom of the ocean To pick you up when you’re feeling low. That when you cannot stand on your own, I will still these flailing arms and hold you For as long as you need me to. And when you don’t need me, or even want me, I will still be here too. When I say, I have no love poems for you, I mean that I won’t have time to sit down and write All the ways you make my heart hum, That all my metaphors were used to exorcise All the demons in my house to make room for you. That all of my poems are about trying to be the man Who feels worthy enough, And knows he deserves to be loved. And when I say, “I love you”, I mean Thank you for leaving me speechless and my hands steady. I could never write a love poem better Than the one I will wake up to when the sun rises.

ONE Your Grandmother was a magician. She could breathe under water, She could fly, And she could even change colors. She taught you all of her tricks, But the magic was never lost. The last thing she taught you; Death is the greatest vanishing act. Death creates a vacuum Where everything you love disappears. Her absence was a top hat you hid emotions in, Because they made the tricks too painful to perform. TWO You were raised by ghosts. Your parents perished to depression, drugs, alcohol, and abuse. Their demons left nothing behind, but sunken skeletons Hollow like empty bottles. You watched your mother drink herself into the ocean. The more the world took, The more room there was for liquid forgetting. She became a sinking ship. For the longest time, You thought you belonged at the bottom of the sea. The absence of love held you there like an anchor. You swallowed numbness Trying to drown all the anger, pain, and self loathing, Watching yourself drift away like air bubbles. THREE You fell in love with fireworks. The way the sparks flew into the air And lit up the night sky Made you feel like beautiful things Could appear out of the darkness. The explosions looked so colorful And the smell of burning cardboard Made you feel at home. You didn’t realize how fleeting the lights were Or how playing with them could get you burned Or how explosions would leave people in pieces Or how cardboard boxes aren’t places to live And can catch fire so easily. Or how after all the fireworks are gone, The silence of the night sounds like mourning bells Ringing in your ears as darks spots dance in your vision. The quiet always sounds loudest once the party is over. FOUR Hearts are like open doors. People you love will come and go Like the swinging of a pendulum Or a carrot at the end of a stick, Always running after something you can’t have. People will walk into you house to make a sandwich, But when there’s no more food, It’s time to go back to their own home. Always lock the door behind them. FIVE Leaving is never hasty. It is meticulous like the folding and unfolding of a paper crane. You do it so many times that the creases become bones, And when you try and straighten yourself out, You always curl back into that bird that is so good at flying away. People will try and put paperweights on you, Because you’ve become a flight risk, But you are also steel, and fire, and storm clouds that can not be pinned down. No hurricane has ever had your name, Because no one will ever want to remember you. SIX Run. Run faster than your doubts. Run faster than your heartbeat. Run faster than you can breathe. Run faster than your memories. Run until you forget why you’re running, And then remember you had a reason. Do not let regret weigh you down. Do not slow down so they can say sorry. Do not look back unless you’re looking at the sunrise. There will always be a new day, And endings birth beginnings. SEVEN You either leave first, Or you get left behind. If you love something do not set it free, Because it will walk away eventually. Appreciate what you have, But never love something more than yourself. It’s okay to walk away. EIGHT Burn all the bridges on your way out of town, Because the lesson in leaving is knowing you should never return.

Looking to do some collaborations!

It is fall, And the air is crisp and cold. Its phantom touch caresses my surface Nibbling at naked skin, marbled by wisdom. I feel like an Oyamel Standing out and planted in place. It’s still too warm to be needed, But it won’t be long. The cold brings their touch; The butterflies. On the cusp of a cold front, They ride into my branches Stretched out, open like a fireplace. The edges of their wings Kissing every inch of my gnarled bark Whispering sweet nothings Searching for a place to fold And tuck themselves into. Searching for a warm embrace To shield them from fearful chill Running up and down their spines. Suddenly, I feel full. I feel the weight of being needed Slowly squeezing me, And I pretend I’m being held. These butterflies burden my mind, But my arms stay strong Carrying their weariness like a cross. I pray for them to be my redemption For sins I don’t remember committing. However, When the butterflies settle There is only quiet, And it is deafening. Their silent slumber leaves me alone. I start to itch Becoming aware of the infestation That winter bestowed. I live inside a morgue Filled with homicides and heartbreaks. The absence of sound Reminds me, I am the page the bookmark landed on Not the book; A tree cut down and ground to sawdust Turned two-dimensional and dried up. My leaves are eclipsed by their escape. I am only made beautiful When they take refuge in me, Shunning the sun on my skin To make my grain a soft bed. Feeling needed is used as a substitute For feeling wanted, But they don’t stay, because they need to. The come, because they need to, And they leave because they want to. I was a stop, not the destination; A safe haven, not the desired location; A place to squat, not the realization That this place is good enough to be home. I long to be made a house Instead of being used for kindling To keep a man warm. I long for the butterflies to stay And keep me company forever, But they’ll leave when it gets warm. I am made most beautiful When they are leaving.

You move in an arc in my mind Casting a shadow on sidewalks Hazy and too hot for naked skin. I see your shapes everywhere, But especially in my peripheral. I’d prefer to not see you at all, But I stare into your light Burning your face into my retina. Memory paints you into shades Of blue, black, and red dancing Like us underneath the moon. Lately I’m always under the moon, The same way your hands Shaky with need, eclipsed my own, And you burned passion into my skin. You were all fire and smoke, And I was all choking and tears. On the blackest day the sky matches Where you touched my heart, All charred black, abandoned, And lined white with soft ash. The beams of light evaporated Leaving a deathly glow floating Where you used to stand And where I still hang in shadows. Sometimes, I feel like I’m the moon Eclipsing my own happiness.

You can see the ghosts coming down the street. You can hear their apologies Pressed to the bottom of their feet. Underneath the pale white moon, You can see them shimmering All broken glass and broken promises. They leave you haunted and shivering. The only things they left behind Were burn marks and footprints that read ‘Sorry’.