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.

4:45 AM

I woke up with your lips on my lips,
hips against my hips,
plot twist.

Eighteen and Thirty one,
was never something I planned on


The world says stop.
Don’t follow your heart,
it ain’t smart.

Sugar cane smile,
Occasional cigarette smoker,
Not one to play poker,
-You can’t stand when people cheat-

The emails,
The texts,
The hidden meanings in the margins

I’ve been meaning to tell you between long conversations
and quick breaths to save time for words,
That I adore the way your folds crease into spaces
Where my fingers could trace.

of you and me
is scary

but quite the thrill,
and worth the wait.

Life of a Hostess

The noise in the room was white. Nobody made a sound except for the mice in the walls
and even they were too far removed to be considered noisy, our ears couldn’t hear their whispers, our eyes couldn’t see through the dense walls of the brick building in which we waited.

Time is slow
and maybe,
I will get in trouble for writing here
while I stand and wait
to greet people
I do not know
at work.

Why haven’t I been eating enough?
I don’t have time.

If I went to school in the mountains
I would have plenty of time
for everyone, including myself.

Too bad I don’t know what I want.


For No One.

I’m sorry I tore you down,
like some beautiful Victorian church
in the middle of a noisy city
that needed a little hope, a little faith,
a little magic from which people like you are made
I never meant to hurt you.

I can’t swallow what I put you through,
it remains stuck in my throat like mucus or something,
sometimes I wish I could go back.

Back to the days in which you and I laid,
harmlessly next to each other in bed, sharing poems,
inhaling smoke, we distanced ourselves from the truth,
from our attraction, our curiosity, we were so hopeless and young,
you were so in love with me, and I was so callous.

Together, honestly we spoke,
and the smoke,
dusty and rising,
created a cloud, illusion,
we lived here,

whispering, swallowing,
all I gave you were words,
all I did was hold in the smoke,
only to blow it back in your face
so you’d be equally as damaged as I.

You deserved the world,
instead you got a rain check,
rusty lungs that felt better
when you swallowed your words
instead of speaking them,

you feared that they’d bleed
onto me,
even though I practically fed you razors….

I apologized to everyone
except for you,
and you were the only one
Who ever deserved those two pathetic words from me.
“I’m sorry.”

I understand that it’s been years since I toyed with your emotions,
but your heart gave out for years because of me
and all I can do is write you poems
that you might one day read,

so you know that a day doesn’t go by
without you on my mind.

I keep thinking about your ghost

You are not dead yet.
In fact,
without me in your life
you are probably more alive
than you ever were previously.
You wilted and dissolved
like a flower plucked
and dropped on pavement
passed and stomped on
by strange men
you became an imprint
on my sidewalk
and I just can’t remember
where I let you fade.
I write you down in past tense
like a memory,
like temporary,
like my words can keep you from escaping me
though you already have.
you’ve become a ghost to me,
and I write about you this way
because it is the only way
you can still exist for me.

Man now (a poem for my brother)

You used to cry every night
until your eyes bled red
and your voice shrunk,
and salt stained you.
I’ve memorized the shape of your mouth when you cry
it’s chaos.
when at thirteen you shot up growing a foot and some,
muscles filling in round the ribs,
arms growing broader,
toughening up so quick
your body larger than the average kid.
and I always laughed when you broke shit,
your bones too big for your age.
you were,
but man you were treated.
I know people misread you all the time for your age and height,
telling you to grow up when you fight,
classifying you with age if you say something wise-
I remember when you told mom to remember that you are still a kid,
and I made sure you knew you can always talk to me
when life gets scary.
It does,
you can,
blood comes before classification.
You’re my little brother, yes,
but I see you like a big person
towering over me like a palm tree
extending the arms you are gaining control over.
I feel pride in you because you’re brave enough to  be a man now,
even though baby,
you’re fourteen years old
and being tough won’t always keep life from happening.
Like yesterday, when you called me into your room.
Your eyes got real soft and milky,
and I saw more man in your way of being
and more child in the chocolate brown of your blink.
You told me about this weekend,
how you took your drunk friend to the train
in the ghetto because you’re always being
man now and you,
walking crooked in your wiggly tall legs,
in your too big body, walked the wrong way back,
and didn’t notice until some kid,
some fucking kid pulled a gun out on you.
My baby, brother,
because you look man now,
get picked out on dark corners,
not getting skipped over for being a child,
you don’t get that much.
That kid said “give me your shit”
and you,
real slick,
heavy pistol pressed against your chest,
the power of death between you
and that sick stranger,
thought on your feet before losing your shit
throwing your wallet on the ground
you ran.
He yelled,
your feet thumping
You wrote when you got there,
the way I told you is good for you,
I wanted to cry when you told me this,
I’m glad you did.
The thought of you in danger,
my baby, man now, brother,
stirs something wicked and righteous in my chest,
you deserve childhood like any other
even if you stand firm like palm trees,
I must remind you to stay soft.
I smile when you are done telling.
Thankful that you spoke,
I tell you
I will always be here for you.
Man then, child now,
child then, man now,
you are allowed to flutter back and forth,
with me,
your vulnerable is safe.
I asked you how you felt when you woke up
and you said you’d never been so happy, thankful, blessed to be alive,
told me you weren’t going to tell anybody
even though it changed something deep inside
your fluctuating man-boy heart.
The world is a scary place, baby
and you’re in the in between.
I know how hard transitioning can be,
but baby, man now, you can always pause
take a time out,
come talk to me,
let it out.
You are blood,
you are person
you are no more and no less
than perfect and growing
to me, this is what family means.
And if you ever need to cry,
like you did every night as a child,
I will wipe your tears,
tell you I’m here,
I’m not going anywhere,
I won’t let you feel

any less
man now.

Winters Child

The sky dropped its curtains over me today.
Grey like winters coat
lined frigid and white
with dark clouds
that never let my pores breath.
We vibrate together,
don’t you see?
You were born in the winter.
I know, because your lips curl up when my skin shivers.
You like the weather heimal and bleak,
this is how you protect yourself.
This is how you loose yourself,
ambiguous friend.
I won’t beg,
but reconsider your forecast.
You created this climate
I’m shivering,
please reconsider,
I’m cold.
Reconsider throwing me under the thunderclouds
that you’ve racked up, stirred in,
prepared and pushed me under.
I’m afraid,
but I won’t fight back
your urge to establish attention.
I’ll just lay, deliberately still,
shaking amply beneath your threatening skies.
I know you will shake too,
with your own biting chill
pumping painfully in your veins.
Your train of thought will slow with your cold blood
as you watch me and chaos meet
in the middle.
I don’t believe this is what you want,
winters children want warmth,
you are freezing.
I understand.
But please
try to understand,
that when l catch on fire and burn alive,
lightning radial through my spine-


you won’t be satisfied
by your glacial chaos.