Return To Sender

Your name stays on the tip of my tongue and your smile stays in the front of my mind. I carry your friendship wherever I go…but that’s all I’ll ever have from you. This parcel that is your friendship is in is so light that I forget that I have it at all until I consciously choose to remember that I do. I do, however, carry another package with me, but it is not for me, it is for you…but when I tried to send it your way, it came back with the words “Return to sender” on the top face of the box. This package…this package is one that I cannot forget that I have because it is so heavy that I have no choice but to remember. Within this box contains more than just my friendship; it contains my heart, my feelings for you. I tried to send it though you’re far away. So far where miles fade into kilometers. You wouldn’t have me and so I must carry yours and mine until I am able to find someone who is willing to take the package I have been given back so many times.

The American Way

Ten fingers, ten toes and a pules; I’m still alive. Or am I? Does waking up after your body can’t take another second of sleep into a world where you feel as though things are constantly against you constitute as “living”? If that’s the case, Lord let me die. The mundane and routine have no room in my life; the strugge to stay afloat as a twenty something trying to do something with his life is overrated and I have to say, this fucking blows. Everyday I ask myself why the hell I’m here and every answer that I can give myself or one that my mother can give me is one that acts as a bandaid…until the Universe comes to rip it off faster than I can say ouch then proceeds to pour copious amouts of rubbing alcohol on the wound. And when I cry about it, the Universe sticks a mystery flavor Dum-Dum in my mouth to shut me up. This shit isn’t fun. Scraping, ducking and dodging…and for what? Just so I can afford to buy my black ass a piece of bread and a carton of eggs. In this age, the only way to know if you’re doing life right is if you owe somebody some money. Whether it’s your mother, father or Sallie Mae, if you have no debts to pay, well god damn…chil’ you ain’t livin right. I wake up, we all wake up, only to be somebodies bitch for the day and that, my friends, is the true American way.

“Saint Gage”: A Monologue

Cryptic messages in the night scream as loud as the pounding of my heart. Sounds, rings from above and below crush my eardrums with the brutal force that is you. I felt the slip of my heart in my hands as it almost fell to the ground when I started to give it to you, you missed it…on purpose. I bled out and remained unconscious but I was tricked my the euphoria. I thought it was falling for you but it turns out that I just fell to the floor from lack of blood flow because, well…you were supposed to be my saint, my savior. You held my heart in your hands while the iron and platelets cycled through the highway of veins that were intricately woven by the hands of God. I felt the weight of all the love I have saved for someone else lifting off of me like bricks lifting off of my chest only to feel them drop back down before I could even finish taking my first deep breath; you tricked me, you son of a bitch. I am angry, mad; I feel lead on and you don’t know how bad that feels, do you? I opened myself up to you, I started to share myself with you only for you to drop me, like a hot fucking potato. You know what really gets me, huh? You know what I really get burned about? Is the fact that I saw all the signs of you being a bad choice. I call myself not holding things you can’t help against you because, for all I know, you could be a great guy. Well I was wrong; I was tricked; I ignored all red flags and it makes me sick to think that I ever shared my thoughts, my feelings, my sympathy, my bed…with you. I sacrificed time and support when its availability is so scarce. Romantic economic status: below the poverty line. I guess that’s what I get. Even though I didn’t put all my eggs in one basket…I put enough in to let my soul starve. I hope it was worth it; I hope I was worth it…because let me tell you something: I will not, I repeat, will not let anyone do this to me again. I at least owe that promise to myself after what I put me through with you, “Saint Gage”.

In This Space

In this space,
It’s hard to replace,
The feel of you being near.
The frame of your face,
The scent behind your ear,
Carries throughout this space,
It haunts this place.
This place,
My place,
My space,
Our space.

Mid-Day Eclipes

April 12, 2015

I feel the warm sun and the cool breeze hit my body with such gentle force. At the same time I feel your hand land on my leg and for a while both experiences felt one and the same. When your head found its way to my shoulder, your curls graze my face with a tickle and my heart flutters in reaction to it. The hairs on your head eclipse my sight and break the blue-orange sky into pieces; I saw the word “love” spelled through the coils into the sky. In these moments are when my emotions hiccup because of the pressure of repression- they fight to shine through, bright like the sun on our faces. Just as fast as the waves roll from the Detroit shore to the Canadian border, my feelings do the same throughout my body; everything and once and at once I am at peace. You are my peace.

Saint Gage

Your curls make me dizzy and your laugh makes me flinch due to the jolt of electricity passing through every receptor in my body. Not once has a message been translated as anything less than joyous. You’re as gracious as a new born and a heart just as pure. I consider every chance, every opportunity to touch you a privilege that I hope you never think I take for granted.

To sleep next to you is to have the most sound sleep I’ve ever had in such a long time and some nights when you’re here, I can barely sleep a wink; your presence demands my attention and I gladly give it to you whenever lucid enough direct it so.

I try to be sly with my glances onto your beautifully sculpted face; into the depths of your iris I drown when our eyes match. The most precious of occasions is the kiss we share. A kiss so unique and sweet, I melt to a puddle at your feet. It is your kiss alone that cause the planets to align; it is your kiss, dear Gage, that pulls my heart into your orbit. When you’re near, my heart belongs to you and only you. It is only when it’s in your hands that my blood can travel the canals in my body without it. When my heart is in your possession, I can never die. Come now, help me live forever. Claim my heart and hold it in your hands. You turn me immortal- grant me the pleasure of staying alive in your love. Be my savior and deliver me from the hands of death and every day I will remind you why you chose me in the first place.

Breathing Under Water

As I barely float on the surface of the water, looking at the helicopter hovering above me trying to position itself just right to release the latter to save my life, I wonder why I swam out into such deep waters knowing that I had no idea how to swim. Did I think I would learn on the way there? If that’s the case, I never had a chance- the tide was too strong and I got pulled in way too fast; I didn’t have time to prepare myself for what was ahead. Struggling to breathe, to stay alive, there were moments in which I was pulled under the water and what I saw was breath taking and beautiful. These waters, filled with wonders and marvels, where the most amazing thing to ever experience. But I couldn’t stay down for too long because, again, I didn’t know how to swim. Being pushed and pulled by the tide and struggling to swim against the undertow, I manage to pierce the surface before I pass out from lack of oxygen. Suddenly, I feel conflicted. I want to experience these wonders and marvels that these waters hold but I can’t swim in such deep waters, not yet. The waves are starting to push me back to the shore; such a bittersweet relief. I know I can breathe easy in the shallow waters and on the shore, but in the deep parts of the ocean is where I long to be. 

Crystallized

Fervently you speak to me with words from that which you most are. My ever working mind can’t stay still long enough to go places your mind has been it seems; my responses to those things you say when you speak of your love for me are like a child responding to an adult. I babble my nonsense and you take it as an acceptable exchange within such a mature conversation. It seems as though your heart pounded so hard for me the other night, I felt the blow of the pump from thirty miles away and I have to say, I’m still feeling the effects today. I’ve endured a beautiful beating, one out of love. The scope from which I view love is too narrow for your grandiose propositions of life linkage and time transcendent love. This, my dear, is scary. To be loved so hard that I’m paralyzed by it. Lying here crystallized by your confessions of what a beautiful love you have for me and how free you feel when you recognize that we are actually together, after all these years is frightening. Though I have it in me to love you just as hard, I never thought I would want to do it so soon. The moment my heart starts to harmonize with the fluttering of yours, my mind regulates the speed with skeptic and seemingly rational thoughts and just like that, it slows down. I’m letting myself be governed by my mind and because of that, my spirit has to suffer; to not experience loving someone to my full ability is a shame and I only have myself to blame for that. Know that in this moment, I love you more than I did the last, and so on. My love grows with each passing second and the rise is exhilarating. There ahead, beyond my personal struggle with experiencing reality as it really is, lies a future with you and I’d love to experience that. As I work on myself and making my mind quite long enough to wake up, the future inches it’s way into being the now; I will be ready when the time arrives. 

1/22/15

Pillow Talk

I find solace in the dysfunctionality that is you and I. Somehow I find comfort in the chaos and beauty in the way we dance on the fine line avoiding land mines on the line between romanticism and platonic interaction. I keep it coy and you keep it cool but we both keep it known between each other, “hey, I like you”. As I lay here on the edge of the bed as if it were a tight rope and you lay in the center like a king claiming his space, I’v somehow slipped through the crack between possessive and generous into complacent because, well, I missed you. And apparently if giving you my bed is what it takes to get you back at a tangible proximity then damn it, why not. But don’t think I didn’t think to lay on you, or long for your arm to draw me close; to draw me near. But those days are no longer here and now, all I can do is accidentally, but not sorry I did, brush my hand up against your ass as I work to rotate without breaking this circus act of being on the edge of this twin size bed. I’ve been banished in my own house, my own room, my own bed…and I let you. Because even though physically at the moment I’m my own personal Circ de Sole, mentally I seem to be quite okay as we lay here and play with dysfunctionality that is you and I. Until the times come to say goodbye and then I hate myself and I might want to cry but I won’t let myself go there, oh no. I’ll close the door, walk to the car, drive to work and sell someone a shoe with a smile on my face as I inwardly burn to distract my heart from missing him, but I’m forever missing him. 

A Whimsical Romance

As intricate of a rhythm made by the overlapping beats between both of our hearts, there seemed to be just enough space left between the notes and ebb & flow for what was potential to escape our grasps. I saw you through the eyes of a man with budding, strong emotion only to die by a sudden winter of reality. Not even emotions can escape mortality.

You’re too hurt to love again and I’m too fragile to stay hoovered in emotional limbo while I wait for your heart to grow back the part your last partner took from you. Know that I am not upset with the circumstance just disappointed and maybe a little hurt, too. I keep telling myself that it’s okay to feel this way, but it doesn’t make it any easier to feel the small sting the truth gave me, without hesitation.

Though I was warned from the beginning, a small part of my psyche hoped that maybe your healing process would speed up if you had someone new to show affection toward.

How cute.

I should have known better than to think with emotion as the guiding force; they always seem to act as a veil to what’s really going on right before my eyes. As I sit here on this bed, avoiding this paper I need to write by writing this small account for my current emotional state, I think of you and how empty and large this twin size bed feels some nights. A part of me wonders if I had never initiated that conversation, would you be here right now? Is there anyway for me to take back what was said that day somehow? Can I have a moment of immaturity and beat myself up for taking what was such a simple pleasure away but still know that it was for the best of my emotional state?

Your baggage is yours to carry and I thank you for not wanting to unload that on me. A year ago I would have taken it, all of it just to keep you near. Sometimes I could swear that the old me hasn’t left, that he’s the one sitting right here. The one who wasn’t responsible, the one who didn’t put himself first; the one who forgot about himself and in doing so, ended up getting hurt over and over again. I still feel a bit sad and I, at times, hate this boundary. I see it like the Berlin wall and I just want it gone, I want to break it down, watch it fall. But it’s there for a reason and who knows, maybe even for a season. But I can’t count on that, for my sake. That dream is something my being can’t take. Because when and if that’s not the case, I’ll be more than disappointed; those sort of let downs tend to devastate.