Love is not miniscule agreements
But it is simple understanding
That I will meet you, if you meet me
No matter where we're standing
Love can't be performed for me
There is no list of how to do
It's someone lost and someone worried
You find me, and I'll find you
What does it take to own
a space? How do you create
something tangible out of
an idea? Do I change it?
Rearrange the furniture
and fence in the perimeter?
I like to remember those
ladies of my youth, who
couldn't see things they
didn't own. They stood in
crowds with ease and
belonged, no not belonged,
controlled. This was their audience,
to gaze at their poise,
to wonder at their confidence.
And, noone ever questioned
their validity in this space,
their ownership of it.
These years are written
in the sand, right on water's edge.
It is late nights, before
the tides rush in, before
the sun burst open
to reveal us. It is here,
in the darkness, where we find
each other and ourselves.
Sometimes I get nervous,
I see that the vastness
of water nipping at our scripts,
and I wonder of the future
of this. But, then I see your face,
all of you, burning smiles and
half shut eyes. That's what youth is,
burning. Written on parchment
and thrown into hot coals,
our skin slowly browns and withers,
but we go on burning.
When you look at the sunrise
It's the same picture that I see
The same orange nectars fill me
I'm warmed by its outstretched arm
And the thought of you
This all feels like holiness
Purity in so many shades or red
Burning the sky in hot anticipation
Recreating what was the night
Bursting open to a clean morning
A day that would bring me to you
And we are connected
When you look at the sunrise
It's blury
But I remember the feeling
The feeling there
With you
I remember the sounds
The giggling
The music of it
Us between the sheets
Us dancing in the smell
A familiar smell
Our smell
I remember the haziness
The dizzy spinning
I remember spinning
And not moving
I remember the taste
The sweetness
I remember the sweetness
Where does your exhale end
and my gasp for air begin?
Dawn's about to burst open,
and I'm uncertain who is me.
Our love in water color,
we bleed together until I'm lost,
until this picture is confusing.
I feel safe in this space,
because how could you leave it?
When it's cold
I like to press the warmth
from my fingertips on to
the windows, I like to watch
as they fade slowly from view.
It is like I was never there.
This morning you turned to me,
and I pressed my warmth on
your lightly closed lips,
and I watched my fingertips fade.
I woke up
tracing the lines on you,
your face, without the knowledge of
how they got there.
You are new
to me, and I to you,
but we're old, a body of experiences.
How many suns exactly
have I let graze this skin?
And what's the damage?
How many moons have you
looked up to, how many times
have you wondered?
What were your answers?
Your face is so new
to me.
I like your eyes,
how they shimmer when you laugh,
like they're laughing.
I like your eyes,
how they gloss with wine,
how they give you away.
I like your eyes,
how they meet mine assertively,
like hunter and a doe.
I like your eyes,
how soft they are with hopefulness,
how they never seem expecting,
how wide they are with fearlessness,
how they're taking but they're giving.
I like your eyes.
I want it slow.
I want you slow,
slow and natural.
I want you to do all those things
that are you in the actual.
I want afternoon sun through half open shades,
I want it slow and never to fade.
I want it like that breeze in the night,
grazing my cheek and holding me tight.
I want this motion to be long and slow,
not just for me but so that the world could know
it's natural.
We have all been in that place of fear, the place where our very identity is used against us. We can all remember the physical reaction a verbal assault can have on our body, especially a young, defenseless one. It is as a group that we heard your dad call out to you in the unthinkable, it was all of us whose face got red and whose stomach ached with swelling tears. I know it was every single one of you that heard that boy on my school bus taunt me. "Hey faggot! We should beat the shit out of this gay faggot." And, I know that you all felt the same searing pain in the back of your head that I did.
"Faggot" is a word that I went years without hearing. Though it was so prevelent in my early teens and throughout my grade school experience, I hadn't experienced severe hate speech in high school. So, it was a surprise to me when I was launched into the middle of so many homosexual men in college, who were using the term at liberty.
I was sitting in the Music Building at Ole Miss when I heard it for the first time. An extremely effeminate friend shouted it down a hallway to me, across several different people heads. "Hey FAGGOTS, wait up!" The word stopped me dead, filling my chest with hot air, and widening my eyes. When I recanted the story to others, I said the word nervously. Quietly, I retold the story of how a friend egregiously outed me and with a word that has only ever caused me pain. Not like my flamboyant friend, who had used it with ease and ownership.
Ownership. I said a word out loud that was not mine. I filled my mouth with every bad taste of my childhood, of every recess and ride on the bus. I allowed myself to be on the other side of my personal experience. I allowed myself to repeat the label that had caused me to overeat for comfort as a child, to cry in public bathrooms, and to hate my very being. I said the word "faggot" and I did not die.
I said "faggot" in front of a group of people who happened to care about me, who loved my charm and quick wit. I identified as my worst nightmare, and people weren't repulsed. It wasn't negative to be a faggot, it had not been all along.
The truth is that no one can use a label weapon against you if you know how you identify. If they speak the truth, then that is who you are and there is not shame there. If they happen to be incorrect, than that's their war to battle through. To live a free life, at times you have to agree with your antagonist. They were right, I am a faggot.
I saw you in my dreams
and you were not the right man.
Because when I saw you in my dreams,
you were the right man.
I'll love you
When the sky is blue
When I look up and all the stars are new
When I remember us and all the dreams we grew
I'll be standing there and I'll be loving you
And I'll imagine, for me, you love me too
Prosperity does not belong
to those praying for it,
only those who are working
towards the sun. Pulling their face
up above those clouds, and smiling
as sweat bleeds into their tired eyes.
Success taste like yesterday's
cold bitterness, which you swallowed
before it painted you with failure.
Everything is just as it appears,
use that to your advantage.
I used to think
that glimmer at night was the moon,
some big force in the sky
to guide me home,
to call me in with the tide.
One day, I woke up
and realized that I had dreamt it,
that all of it was a dream. I realized
that I was the moon,
that the light that guided me through
the night was me.
I've never been more scared.
Satisfaction does not exist,
just unfound opportunity.
It is our nature to look up,
or suffer self-brutality.
There is no one who can help me be
myself. They've asked me not to be
graceful, because I make too many mistakes.
They've asked me not to consider
pride, because I've experienced shame.
They've said that I can't possibly be
clean, because it makes them uncomfortable
that I have asked myself for the unfathomable,
forgiveness.
You set a
brick down,
and it fumbled in the wind.
I yelled at you
to catch it. "DON'T
LET IT FALL!"
It did. My eyes swelled
as I watched it fall,
joining the others.
It wasn't a real cry,
just one of those times
when the anger and the bitterness
seep from your eyes.
How could it keep happening
to us.
We've been building this
all morning, and the wind grows
ever stronger.
We're nowhere near making
a roof, and the storms are coming.
And, the storms are coming.
There's a refinement in her
every fluid movement. A reverb
hitting you from behind,
as you actually hear her,
her very being approaching you,
she'd never give you less,
making you wonder if she can
subtract from herself.
There's a reality in her eyes,
that you've never seen
a man like this, but she is
all those archetypes that you hold
dear. She says,
"Can I buy you a drink?"
But you know,
you feel her intentions,
you know that she's already
performed, everyone does.
You'd never be able
to pin down the pain,
the past it takes to create
such a presence, to produce
such purposeful eyes.
I saved
a locket with your hair,
but it doesn't smell the same.
I know
that euphoric sweetness,
but not it's fleeting name.
Today's
perfume is strong, yet still,
it doesn't trickle down my spine.
But I'll
keep looking at your portrait
and thereby bury you in time.
When I was a child
holding a dandelion,
I learned the meaning of love.
How is it possible
to hold you
but not keep you?
How can I
admire you
yet keep you whole?
How does this being
grow with me
and not around me?
I want to feel you
within my solid grasp,
but more than that,
I want to love you.
I've been up
all night wondering
if I was supposed to be
flying. I had dreams that I was
all of what you require. It can't be,
that as I get closer to the sun
it fades. And this dream,
once all I ever wanted,
doesn't glitter.
What is forgiveness?
Well, I know
because it is me.
Forgiveness slowly trickles
out of the tiny corners
of your tired mouth.
It spills itself
onto your chest,
where your breath is
unevenly pumping.
Forgiveness is
what occupies the space
where doubt has died,
filling that void
that once held vileness.
Forgiveness frees
the forgiver,
allowing the forgiven
to reevaluate intent
and research the source.
Forgiveness is just saying,
"I remember
what makes us similar,
and I want to understand more."
What is success
and how do I hold it
with my hands
that once held
the seeds that I planted.
It was hot that day,
and I gave my sweat
to soften the earth.
I gave my focus,
stood against a blazing
fire just for them.
Isn't it fair,
that this tree grow,
that I am the one
that climbs it?
What god prevents
me?
I am still water.
My smooth surface
does nothing
but sit and reflect
the sun. Have you seen it,
my perfection? It's tantalizing
glimmer rolls over for days.
Look at my face.
Blind yourself on all I have
to offer your eyes.
But guard yourself,
for every body
of water has its depths.
I see you
in that dark place
where your voice echoes,
where it changes on you.
It's a painful thing,
a voice with the freedom
to affect the speaker.
Do be careful,
with your reverb,
and speak sweetly
to my friend.
I love you,
and I see you.
Have you smelled
the morning? I have.
But only when I have
allowed myself
eyes, only when I have
allowed myself
time to learn.
You see,
the morning has no
sense of time,
it pulses only within
the parameters of a timeline.
It starts only when
your night ends,
and your body opens.
Oh, and the smell is
fresh dew, clean
air to breathe
deeply.
How far are you,
sweet dream?
My knees no longer burn,
they don't remember
the hours in prostration,
in obligatory prayer.
Come to me,
with that faded swiftness,
and lighten my eyes.
Show me how,
how I used to sparkle
as I watched my horizon,
the one I painted.
How far are you,
and do you remember
my intentions?
What about the river
pushing on the stone?
How he scrapes
and wears the surface down,
just to hear him moan.
What about the river,
all his strength and might?
How he bends
and shrinks his power down,
all for just one night.
What about the river?
How is he perceived?
All the work
and time that he puts in,
and he's never been relieved.
How nasty is your body?
How grotesque is the
rhythm of your breathing? How often
do you remind yourself of
your true nature? In private
how primal is your heartbeat?
Do you recognize its rawness,
its fervent call to you? Do you hear
the reverb of its beating, as it
attempts to escape? As it attempts
to pull you in?
I'll keep it warm inside
For us
When the world is frigid
It's me you can trust
I'll keep the heat on
For you
When the wind pushes hard
And your fingers are blue
When you're stuck in the ice
And don't know what to do
I'll light the fire
For this
For when I'm on my own
For when I need a home
I'll keep it warm inside
It didn't happen for me
Not this morning
That inevidable success
That is given
To those who deserve it
Enough
The award
For the loudest struggle
From some all knowing
All withholding power
It didn't happen for me
I didn't wake up
From the dilusions
To the reality of
My dilusions
I was not given
The power we have
Been searching for
All of us
With faith in a fickle
Lottery
It didn't happen for me
And I hoped for it
It didn't happen for me
Why
I want that mad love
No so so love
That angry love
Yeah that's what I'm dreaming of
What I've been dreaming of
I want that mad love
Scary blind love
That trusting love
Yeah that's what I'm dreaming of
What I've been dreaming of
I want that mad love
That too hot love
That burn me love
Yeah that's what I'm dreaming of
What I've been dreaming of
I want that mad love
I find solice
In that vastness
Standing still in anonymity
I find forgiveness
In that reflective pool
That huge mirror that is
Independence
I find humanity
In that stillness
Standing with a loved one
Me
I'm borderline
Between anger at contentment
And the very first step
Between the sky that I gaze at
And the bonds that I've kept
Here
I'm borderline
Between the happily ever after
And the sudden hour
Between the sweet of the finish
And the welcome sour
Here
I'm borderline
Between love for my neighbor
And the end of the line
Between pride in my work
And the straight of my spine
Here
I'm borderline
