They have turned us over their tongues a thousand times
And scattered us all over the world until we are dust
No one would believe us and even if they did,
The world does not need another love story
Men are dying in Gaza
Men are dying in our backyards
So it doesn’t matter if I am dying inside
There are bigger things to fight for
I cannot even win the war against myself
There is nothing worse than the guilt
Of not being able to live outside of my head
But you still calmly make tea in the kitchen,
Quietly covering up sharp edges
Until I’m ready to throw up the pills
I know I am not a worthy cause
But you take time to keep my demons at bay
Until one day I could join you in a demonstration
Taking on actual demons like the capitalist pigs and imperialist America
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
I started the habit of falling inlove with boys
who have second names, when I was fifteen years old.
Half drunk at a party and seeing you at a corner.
Smoldering in the fire of a deep dark secret.
And here I am, dying to take the flame between my lips,
so it may scorch every inch of my being.
I watch you take a cigarette,
cradle the burn between your lungs.
It made me want to reach inside your chest.
To feel the smoke between your ribs, pass my fingers
So I ran out of my perfectly still house
into the hearth of your heart
Only to run inside the chaos of a burning city.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC