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, 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.


Venus Fly Trap

Touch her and she’ll bite.

She’s bright,
always listening,
blue eyes glistening.

She’s good at getting a grip on people,
with a tongue inside her pretty mouth that licks like a whip,
she’ll lash out whenever you’ve gotten too close,
surrender, before you suffer her blows.

You’ll tell her all your secrets
and she’ll clench down on your throat,
but to her you’re just dinner,
she’ll have no mercy on your soul.

A Poem about Afterlife

We do not measure the extent
of our lives in minutes,
(but we try.)

Fearing the moment we reach
punctuation, sentence ending,

We wish to prepare our last words,
but modify them for those by whom
They may be heard.

It is almost like we don’t know
that death is organic,
it cannot be expressed through syllables,
Yet so we often speak
because we are not comfortable
with the silence.

We dislike the idea
of an end
so we turn to thick old books
about colossal whales and parting seas
to give our curiosity remedy.

What about when we die, deteriorate,
can’t predict our fate?

Maybe, we are not here for pleasure.
Pleasure is here and we experience it,
But is it our purpose?
If so, what does pain give us to gain?

Maybe the whole point is just to die,
but I expect more from that powerful thing that
watches from the sky.

To me an energy,
to many a big bearded white guy
with wise eyes and bleeding palms,
a voice that speaks lessons to be learned,
for a purpose still unlearned,
into the ears of the religious.

I make up my own prayers,
Direct them to what I know is real.
(The spiritual energy I feel)

Chasing Shadows

We chase the shadows in our head,
the shapeless grey overcast of something missing,
scabby, peeling, dying, something is wrong inside
that we can’t figure out.

We need more exercise, or more sleep, or less love, or more love,
or more alcohol, or less alcohol, there is always some obscure thing
eclipsing our happiness

and we chase it like it is not a product of ourselves,=
when it is.

We chase the shadows in our head
until the sun goes down,
and our breath gives out,
and we can’t even remember
what we were hounding after in the first place.

We stop.

Beaten down,
helpless in our state
making eyes at the stars that radiate,
wondering when they’ll burn out
and if they’ll ever make our wishes truer,

What is it that’s keeping us from being happy?
What are the shadows tempting us for?

Shadows move when we do,
and we never catch up.
And if we could time wouldn’t work,
And the sun would still set,
and at the end of the night we still
wouldn’t know what we were doing.