people always told me to hold onto the spark but it only ever got me in trouble
neurosis crawling up my spine and stunting the growth just below my neck
I am stunted, those boys in baggy school blazers and leather shoes will grow into men and I've barely got an inch on them
a savant of sorts, sure, but I'm not a child anymore
my ways hold me back; my ways hold me down
the spark I was told to to hold on ever so tightly, it hurts peoples eyes and burns their fingertips
I will not grow
I will only die down and submit to
the natural elements
disintegrate along with the vapour of the candle when it burns out
I have a developmental disability. I never thought it held me back. but I feel as though I was wrong.
my mouth tastes Pepsi max ******
you know, the one they made to get around the sugar tax
because this boy I like,
he only drinks fizzy,
and he's been shaking my heart up a bit
he's Coca Cola and Mentos,
he's impulsively leaping down staircases,
he's somewhere up a tree
he's larger than life but fits in my bed
he picks me up and it's all such a laugh
and my head is only spinning because
being burrowed into his chest is the closest to heaven I think I've ever been
and if you could feel the etherea radiate from him like I can I think you'd understand
*I know etherea isn't a word but he's so ineffable that I had to make one up. It's (obviously) derived from ethereal.
there was definitely a spark
it could have been a match to a gas leak
the striplights could have all blown at once
everyone else in the world besides you and me could have gone up in flames
I didn't hear it, I didn't see it,
but I know something happened
my heart is on fire
you cannot idle by on your Saturday evenings, wasting away to the song you could have written if only you had thought of it in time!
your lungs will inflate and deflate and your heart will go dudum for a few decades yet!
you must live! you must take the dusk in your stride;
take a stroll on Sunday morning,
you'll find something to write about
and in doing so,
you'll find something to live for
can you touch me and pretend like the fat doesn't gather around my chest and hips? can you touch me like a boy would touch a boy?
can you hear me like it's a polite young man talking? can you hear the shrill, nasally drone and remember that it's supposed to be me?
can you stop looking into my eyes? can you sew them shut? can you stop pretending to know all that I am?
can you come up behind me and smash my head in with a glass bottle?
as I lay there, hugging my knees, tucked up into my jacket
the 4am gales swept away any comfort I may have found, and I thought of a wisdom I once heard,
"this, too, shall pass"
and I clung to the thought as my eyes drifted shut,
as the dawn stumbled its way forth
and the street lights weren't needed anymore
"this, too, shall pass"
and as my head drifted from concrete
back to cotton sheets
and I felt safe and content and greatful for all I have
I breathed a sigh
softly, in relief
"this too shall pass,"
I don't know the origin of that saying but it helped me through sleeping rough so I'm greatful it exists
I fiddle around with the truth in my hands
trying to mold it into a shape I can stand
(that isn't age 7 when I didn't understand)
I look up and say with a pensive sigh,
"I've never made love to anyone,"
because that is no lie
but I promise myself, there is hope for a body profane as mine
a ****** I will be! and I'll make love for the first time-
to a lover, to a tender hand,
to another boy and not a man
in the queen-sized bed, on the soft white sheets
intertwined and in love, our bodies will meet