April 11th 2017

Eyes meet,

Irises like the windows of the home you’ve always dreamed of-

Perfectly curated for you with lots of dream catchers to soften your suspension of consciousness
Crystals, to fill the space with good energy
Big windows that capture the smooth rich light of the golden hour and
maps of destinations that you’ve passed through
but never felt quite like home.

I saw so much in that fleeting moment in which eyes locked and my feet led me forward without consulting my brain or heart.

Blink, look away,
But somehow your world is changed now and your heart thumps away in your chest, your brain filing through every receipt of promises you made and swore you’d never break;
But you just did
With a single look.

Isn’t it great when you meet someone who makes you break your own rules?

I swore never again.
I changed my hair, hardened on the surface, re-wired my brain, and now the chords are all tangled and I feel insane, but
I can’t look away from those eyes.

Naturally, I fear being wrong.
I already have a home and looks can be deceiving and this is how mistakes are made.

But, the more time I spend gazing into those eyes that pacify me, the more at home I feel, and the more my guard falls aside-

I step outside
into the lustrous golden glow that the mammoth of star called ‘sun’ radiates and I bask in his fever with a fearless smile plastered to my face.

Still, I wonder if I’m getting too attached to a home that was meant to house many tenants, memories, and temporary experiences, not just me.

What if one day I come home and the keys don’t fit into the lock and this enticing home is no longer meant for me?

I’ll leave, settle for another place, with leaky ceilings, less light, and a stiff mattress where I just. Can’t. Sleep.

I wonder if this silent exchange that passed through my retina and straight into my heart was felt in the same way, or if I’ll pack my bags and drive away with me eyes
closed
shut.

A Caterpillar and a Rose

The sky looks muted and powdery today. There’s a thunderstorm approaching. I can usually tell when the ground outside is wet and I can’t figure out where the clouds begin and end, cloaking the sky like a thick blanket of dust. Next to me, my mother left three roses, attached by the same stem in a glass of water. The leaves on these roses are partially eaten away, and when I look closely I see the smallest green caterpillar curled up on one of the leaves. He’s about half of an inch long, and a centimeter wide. He seems to react to the sound of my fingers typing on the keyboard.

What a time to be alive. Every person who ever graced the earth must have thought that same thought. I don’t think I can eat animals anymore, because even when I look at this small little caterpillar, I’m afraid that if I touch him it might hurt, and I don’t want to have a negative impact on his life.

We call America the land of the free, but that’s a diluted statement. The cows and the chickens that live on our land are not free. They called America the land of the free when black people were slaves and women couldn’t vote, and Chinese women were forced into prostitution in California. When I think about the pain that came before me my eyes well up and little storms explode from my tear ducts. I want to reverse pain that has been inflicted on this earth. I want to make light of the darkness and live simply, happily. I like being home. I feel in touch with myself, with my spirituality, with the earth.

Sam

The smell of perspiration lingers on his henna skin
that rich colorful skin
that sweats like it can’t catch a breath
and maybe he can’t.

He tells me he’s scared of disappointing his father
and I nod like I couldn’t tell
by the way his brow sits stiff on his face.

I wish I could change his pain.

I always want to put people out of their misery,
but it’s selfish to think that
I can save anyone from themselves.

Respectfully I wonder what it’s like
to be him.

How much of my ignorance
would be realized,
if I had to live in another body
with another gender
another race
and another life
that I couldn’t possibly understand
when I am me.

11/02/2016

Confessions about a boy, 2.

Cocky, but I like a challenge.

You’re about as handsome as it gets, but your walls are up, so my curtains stay closed.

Your sister is sleeping and somehow you’ve gotten me into your room. The door shuts and we become animals, but it’s quick. Not what I’d expect from a 6’2 piano prodigy. Lacrosse, Soccer, and Football pro- Straight A student with the whitest damn teeth I’ve ever seen. God knows you’re much too perfect for me, but for now, my body doesn’t care.

After we’re done, I go to leave, but you start talking to me real human. You ask me to tell your sister to wear less makeup, and to keep an eye on her, too. Guilt sits like stones in my stomach, for I already chose you over her. I guess everyone wants a piece of me, and there’s just not much left.

You asked me to care for your sister and so I do, ignoring you, but when you’re drunk you’re not the same gentleman. You grab my backside and laugh when I say “stop”.

You even have the audacity to yell at me for smoking cigarettes, yet when I choose to walk away into the neighbor’s yard, you follow, pulling me down to the ground.

“Stop” I say. You cover my lips with your own. “No” I tell you, but you’ve undone most of my buttons now. I get up and push you off, and you’re pissy and I want to cry.

When I go inside, your sister thinks I’m hiding something because the jeans she lent me are muddy now and she couldn’t find you before.

I light another cigarette and swallow the guilt with the smoke.