I transformed my suffering into a new power,
one that which is infinite.
One whose sensation is pure bliss,
replete of holy wisdom.
All shall partake upon its intrepid path,
for his rod and his staff shall comfort thee.
Don't you see?
Love is infinite, through Jesus Christ
who strengthens me.

what i said:
"you sound rough this morning."


what i meant:
"your voice is lavender and honey and tea time and supernovas colliding with gentle breezes and if i could wake up to it, just once, cocooned in a tangle of your arms and couch cushions and that blanket you keep in the back of your car, i swear by the stars in my eyes no one on this godforsaken planet would be out of earshot of my singing

i hope that tonight when i dream of you--it is no longer a matter of uncertainty, but anticipation--you speak like you've just overslept your alarm and frantically motored yourself to where i am, like is the case today.

i wish you had chosen me but if i could only listen to you speak to me, about anything--rivers or math homework or football or belonging or music or even your girlfriend--i promise i would listen with the beating urgency of a swimmer in a frozen stream, i would savor each word from your lips, like they were the spring and i was the underground daisy waiting for your kiss.

and in precisely three days i will have an essay to compose about a beautiful topic that would consume me thoroughly were it not for the memory of your groggy morning voice, so full of raspy complacency i can't breathe but instead of fulfilling my obligations i will be hashing out halfway comprehensible poetry about you and crying about how i cannot recreate the sound of your voice with any combination of hollowly clicking keys.

you are so beautiful that i could spend the remainder of my life with a five-subject notebook, scrawling 'your eyes. your smile. your hands. your voice' over and over endlessly and die feeling as though i had lived a thousand years of quiet adventure.

you are so much and too much for me and i have no idea why you see as much in me as you do but i will not question it, for fear that if i were to come too close to you, to run my fingers along the marvel of your face you would shrivel and unfurl into nonexistence, like the leaf in the fire."


and also:
"why can't your voice always sound like this?"

and finally:
"******* you're attractive"

So where does she go when
she's been fingered and drugged,
abused and sexed up?
That's right, the end of the bar
where they'll never find her,
let alone kiss her.*

Tucked behind her right ear,
blonde hair fell as if a tear
from cheek to chin,
bowling ball to bowling pin;
stacked at the other end.

This poem is for you long-blonde-hair-behind-the-bar-girl, written down by paper and pen.

Your quilted jacket,
leather in material,
won't keep the cold out;
only a white-stick-arm
will warm, guide and
ignite you home.

Fill the wardrobes back up again        
with hangers plucked and picked from the
carpeted floor.
                        Lay the lover down amongst the sheets
                        only the whisper sweet thoughts and memos and
                        kind words in low tones
                        into her ear.
                                           Kiss her neck and grace the thigh,
                                           build
                                           up
                                           the
                                           courage
                                           to
                                           last
                                                 all
                                                    night.

I am no ***
I am not to work hard
Or to tire by strenuous activity
Nor am I an English school boy who acts as a servant to an older school boy
Nor am I a Cigarette

I am no ******
I am not a Bundle
Nor am I a bundle of pieces of wrought iron to be shaped by rolling or hammering at a high temperature
Nor am I a Bundle of sticks

I am no FAIRY
I am not a mythical being of folklore and romance usually having human form and magic powers

I am no FRUIT
Do I look edible? Do I give off a citrus aroma?
Nor am I a product of plant growth
Nor am I FRUITY
I am not relating to, made with, or resembling fruit

I am no Queer
I am not worthless, counterfeit
Nor am I Questionable, suspicious
Neither am I mildly insane
Nor To spoil the effect or success of

What I am is a homosexual
What I am is a male who likes other males
What I am is just another Human being who happens to be **Gay

It's like I can see it in my head
As you're texting the words to me
I can see how stressed you are
Your head in your hands
Pounding with frustration
Constant wheels turning
I can only imagine how exhausting it is
And I squirm and struggle to sit here
Because I can't do anything about it
Oh how I wish I could take you away
Teach you how to relax
Slow down time
Count each breath
Feel it
Fill your lungs
Feel me
Seize your stress
Let me work those knots
Lay you down and straddle your body
Kneed your skin and play with your hair
Ease your mind off those headaches
I can make the pain disappear
Dissolve away
I'll mold your mind into a warm balance
Nothing but my hands on your mind
Forgotten the outside world
Feel me
Awaken forgotten nerves
Feel it
Relax your muscles
Please
I beg
Let me take you away