Andian - Hello Poetry

An icy drip, blood colder than the subzero gusts keeping you away and the noise in knowing my life would spill out faster and farther than when we sled down the hill that night And I curled up underneath your sleek black coat like the scared child I am shaking withdrawals of hope

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Feb 21, 2021

Feb 21, 2021 at 2:05 PM UTC

we interrupt this broadcast

An icy drip, blood colder than the subzero gusts keeping you away and the noise in knowing my life would spill out faster and farther than when we sled down the hill that night And I curled up underneath your sleek black coat like the scared child I am shaking withdrawals of hope

7

So it took me twelve months, fifty-something weeks, to understand that someone you want to sleep with isn't the same as someone you want to wake up beside You've said it yourself that you enjoy waking with me taking the smallest sliver of your bed (and if I take more, I'll hear about it come sun rise and our laughter will chime) Not only am I yours, but you are mine.

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Jan 31, 2021

Jan 31, 2021 at 1:15 PM UTC

Fifty-something weeks

So it took me twelve months, fifty-something weeks, to understand that someone you want to sleep with isn't the same as someone you want to wake up beside You've said it yourself that you enjoy waking with me taking the smallest sliver of your bed (and if I take more, I'll hear about it come sun rise and our laughter will chime) Not only am I yours, but you are mine.

9

The boy who clicks off the light, reads on the couch, to let sleep consume me-- or who reads beside me, metal-frames dipping low while his eyes pour over the page. The boy who tucks me in, acquiescing the blanket softer than peach fuzz-- like the ambrosial peaches his grandmother gifted him in the winter and he shared sweet. The boy who always makes sure to kiss me good-bye and fills the room with jazzy notes-- because they represent me, though he never liked jazz much at all before. The boy who asked me to wake him if I go somewhere because he'd prefer me to remain beside him, but he understands I have things I need to do, so he cannot always wake beside me, a weight he can handle. It does not match the boy who told me he does not love me, though he likes me, and I am haunted by hollow translations that force me to delicately dance around a swear word in the English language like "love". It does not match the boy who said we wouldn't have much of a relationship without *** and I am haunted by uncertainties of my convenience that force me to stumble with the hope that our past does not define our present. How I feel about you, through my actions, through my words, are truer than any logic, but that might not matter because the boy does not want to hear words that have a weight greater than he can handle.

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Dec 14, 2020

Dec 14, 2020 at 9:25 AM UTC

His words and actions misalign, so what is true?

The boy who clicks off the light, reads on the couch, to let sleep consume me-- or who reads beside me, metal-frames dipping low while his eyes pour over the page. The boy who tucks me in, acquiescing the blanket softer than peach fuzz-- like the ambrosial peaches his grandmother gifted him in the winter and he shared sweet. The boy who always makes sure to kiss me good-bye and fills the room with jazzy notes-- because they represent me, though he never liked jazz much at all before. The boy who asked me to wake him if I go somewhere because he'd prefer me to remain beside him, but he understands I have things I need to do, so he cannot always wake beside me, a weight he can handle. It does not match the boy who told me he does not love me, though he likes me, and I am haunted by hollow translations that force me to delicately dance around a swear word in the English language like "love". It does not match the boy who said we wouldn't have much of a relationship without *** and I am haunted by uncertainties of my convenience that force me to stumble with the hope that our past does not define our present. How I feel about you, through my actions, through my words, are truer than any logic, but that might not matter because the boy does not want to hear words that have a weight greater than he can handle.

17

I can't fall asleep on the couch this year eyes out of focus on our tree bursting with history but only the parts appropriate for them to perceive as reality the silver beads glow golden draped across every branch How can I miss an unreturnable place that was never a home Here or there, lonesomeness would not ease, but because I don't want to brace this Chicago winter alone, deep blue that passes for deep green cloaks across my ribs still aching with every breath

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Dec 14, 2020

Dec 14, 2020 at 9:13 AM UTC

The trees here, webbed in lights, still smile at me.

I can't fall asleep on the couch this year eyes out of focus on our tree bursting with history but only the parts appropriate for them to perceive as reality the silver beads glow golden draped across every branch How can I miss an unreturnable place that was never a home Here or there, lonesomeness would not ease, but because I don't want to brace this Chicago winter alone, deep blue that passes for deep green cloaks across my ribs still aching with every breath

7

It seems a silly, foolish thing: obscure abstracted expectations heeded sure. However, comfort found or shred in thread, defiance! Liberation for the dead to overthrow, reject, deny decrees imposed from fears that freedom means disease. Because it chokes, barbed-wire laceration began with shouts of divine damnation, outpours a strangled, blood-laced river with no end—laws unaware of gender’s myth. To them, I am a thing one can acquire. Behind eyes worn, I tire— Oh! How I tire of worth and value foisted most unjust. Disgust conceals (reveals) clandestine lust; they loved (and also often hated) me for what I am and what I never will be.

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Nov 14, 2020

Nov 14, 2020 at 2:57 PM UTC

A Boy Protests and Dissents for All Who Died Because They Were Themselves.

It seems a silly, foolish thing: obscure abstracted expectations heeded sure. However, comfort found or shred in thread, defiance! Liberation for the dead to overthrow, reject, deny decrees imposed from fears that freedom means disease. Because it chokes, barbed-wire laceration began with shouts of divine damnation, outpours a strangled, blood-laced river with no end—laws unaware of gender’s myth. To them, I am a thing one can acquire. Behind eyes worn, I tire— Oh! How I tire of worth and value foisted most unjust. Disgust conceals (reveals) clandestine lust; they loved (and also often hated) me for what I am and what I never will be.

16

I marveled at the stitches Held your hand, grip tight like the taut strings carefully unraveled Clockwork, I tended to the wounds paler lit just by the moon Heartwork, I kissed the scars I numbly focus on the void Unaided and desensitized to the ceaseless ache Clockwork, you neglect me till I anticipate I will break a hollow space carved into my chest darkens day by day Heartwork, you actively exhibit my unimportance to you I marveled at the stitches Silk securing skin, uncertainty in the cell structure’s very safety Clockwork, you asked for me to tend to the wounds paler lit just by the moon Heartwork, you smiled when I kissed the scars

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Jul 24, 2020

Jul 24, 2020 at 6:18 PM UTC

I am a love of convenience and novelty.

I marveled at the stitches Held your hand, grip tight like the taut strings carefully unraveled Clockwork, I tended to the wounds paler lit just by the moon Heartwork, I kissed the scars I numbly focus on the void Unaided and desensitized to the ceaseless ache Clockwork, you neglect me till I anticipate I will break a hollow space carved into my chest darkens day by day Heartwork, you actively exhibit my unimportance to you I marveled at the stitches Silk securing skin, uncertainty in the cell structure’s very safety Clockwork, you asked for me to tend to the wounds paler lit just by the moon Heartwork, you smiled when I kissed the scars

15

What does it matter if I chose to wear a ring Silver and cold-blooded, fought hard to receive To symbolize the one coiled around my heart If I chose to order a drink Of the poem you recite with smile and splendor To symbolize you, miles away, my new year’s wish If I chose to remain in your bed that morning After your insensitive and heart-constricting decision to symbolize a commitment to communication and forgiveness If I chose to lock eyes and arms with you In a hall teeming with energy contradictory to the average age To symbolize overwriting painful past through contraband What does it matter that I chose you Implicitly and explicitly and wholly if you didn’t choose me?

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Jun 21, 2020

Jun 21, 2020 at 9:19 PM UTC

Because I beam when I look at you and you just look away.

What does it matter if I chose to wear a ring Silver and cold-blooded, fought hard to receive To symbolize the one coiled around my heart If I chose to order a drink Of the poem you recite with smile and splendor To symbolize you, miles away, my new year’s wish If I chose to remain in your bed that morning After your insensitive and heart-constricting decision to symbolize a commitment to communication and forgiveness If I chose to lock eyes and arms with you In a hall teeming with energy contradictory to the average age To symbolize overwriting painful past through contraband What does it matter that I chose you Implicitly and explicitly and wholly if you didn’t choose me?

15

No one understands the shortcomings of words better than I Their irrevocable price of tongue and heart Fragments of phrases slip through my futile fingers Grasping at the threads tangled across languages Intricate perplexing aggravating As a shoelace-knot of a sentence Shallow entangling ensnaring As a spiderweb of speech Impaired by the limitations of expression Further subjected to inequivalence in hollow translations Rendering me to scrawl in desperate-blue ink words reminiscent of my love for you.

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Jun 19, 2020

Jun 19, 2020 at 5:15 PM UTC

Up for Interpretation

No one understands the shortcomings of words better than I Their irrevocable price of tongue and heart Fragments of phrases slip through my futile fingers Grasping at the threads tangled across languages Intricate perplexing aggravating As a shoelace-knot of a sentence Shallow entangling ensnaring As a spiderweb of speech Impaired by the limitations of expression Further subjected to inequivalence in hollow translations Rendering me to scrawl in desperate-blue ink words reminiscent of my love for you.

12

Heaven mend my heart for it longs even when he is near, painful to merely glance upon his learned silhouette knowing it will soon disappear For this feels like a pressing punishment for an ineluctable sin so divine as to adore another so selflessly sustaining only by the privilege to christen him mine Heaven mend my heart! for it anguishes even when he is far, Lord, I love him please do not make us part

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Jun 16, 2020

Jun 16, 2020 at 11:36 PM UTC

A Christian's Prayer

Heaven mend my heart for it longs even when he is near, painful to merely glance upon his learned silhouette knowing it will soon disappear For this feels like a pressing punishment for an ineluctable sin so divine as to adore another so selflessly sustaining only by the privilege to christen him mine Heaven mend my heart! for it anguishes even when he is far, Lord, I love him please do not make us part

12

I was going to compose a parallel poem mirroring the ways you show you care but you have made it evident that I will never be your home. You would thoughtfully answer my never-ending stream of questions carry me to bed with a blissful blanket of sleep and softness grant me the honor of wearing anything you owned, and smile at my choices actively correspond with me, more in the span of a few weeks than your standard for a lifetime trust me to take care of your bright-green banana-of-a-boy assist and twist and crack my spine further track and plot my heartrate to find a trend in tempo and tone and always provide the nearness I need to breathe and feel and be myself. I did not need to pen a poem to know that you care, albeit reticent but you have made it evident that I will never be your home.

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Jun 15, 2020

Jun 15, 2020 at 10:59 PM UTC

How I knew, but now I know.

I was going to compose a parallel poem mirroring the ways you show you care but you have made it evident that I will never be your home. You would thoughtfully answer my never-ending stream of questions carry me to bed with a blissful blanket of sleep and softness grant me the honor of wearing anything you owned, and smile at my choices actively correspond with me, more in the span of a few weeks than your standard for a lifetime trust me to take care of your bright-green banana-of-a-boy assist and twist and crack my spine further track and plot my heartrate to find a trend in tempo and tone and always provide the nearness I need to breathe and feel and be myself. I did not need to pen a poem to know that you care, albeit reticent but you have made it evident that I will never be your home.

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