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.

A Caterpillar and a Rose

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

Sam

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.

Confessions about a boy, 2.

Confessions about a boy, 1.

The memories attached to sound…

When that song plays I go back to the passenger seat of your car, when I was trying so hard to convince myself that I loved you. You bought me cigarettes and played music for me on your guitar and I thought I could repay you by jumping your bones.

They say I’m intense. Silly boys like you only buy into my bullshit because you’re all convinced you can fix me when you can’t.

But you were sweet, you felt bad that our first time wasn’t special. On the train ride home I closed my doors to you and opened the floodgates within, choosing to be alone with my emotions.

You used to drive for hours just to see me but I was used to getting beat down and your sweetness almost repulsed me by comparison to what I knew, so I told you not to come anymore.

Of course, when I did end it, you pounced. Stopped being a pussy and put your words into a song about how I left a bad taste in your mouth, stole your happiness and ended up being a bitch.

I’m not. You just weren’t the one, but I’m sorry I led you on.

12/6/2015

Confessions about a boy, 1.

Stolen Innocence

A train ticket to New York City
the over used branded logo locale,
the city of opposing dreams,
of hypocrites and schemes,
swallowed me.

It started with a kiss,
a moonlight job where I get to know men
who rob the innocent of their pennies
to throw them at me
when I’m made up and miserable.

This city has calloused even my tears,
I’m built with a strength sharper than spears-

It’s not what I pictured when I moved here,
but this place is about survival.

The one way ticket on a fast track,
stole my innocence away.

But at night, when I’m all alone,
I stay awake,
holding onto the memory
of innocent days.

Stolen Innocence