I can't write

The words used to spill out of my head like a waterfall but now I feel like there's a wall

A wall that blocks my brain from putting symbols together to form a word or even a sentence

The sentences on my paper must be invisible I can't see them

I don't know where they went

They meaning the words I used to write or say but now can't even think

I can't write

I think
trying to imagine

the look on my mother’s face
if she ever found me with a bullet in my head
the gun in my hand
finger on the trigger

is the reason I am trying so hard
to stay

I think
being the reason

someone hurt like that is the only reason I’m still here

but in those moments
I am so lost

it is after the pill bottle is empty
and my wrists are open

that I see my mother’s face in the back of my head

it is after my eyes are closed
and I do not feel

that I remember
that I cannot do this to you

but it is too late
and I am so sorry

I think
hearing my father’s voice crack
as tears flooded his eyes

when he begged me not to do this to myself

is the reason
I came home alive

rather than in a casket

because I am so afraid of what would happen

how a man who already drinks himself to sleep
would cope

with the death of his only daughter

but it is not until
I have already swung from the rope around my neck

that I hear him pleading

but it is too late
and I am so sorry

I think
that even though I feel alone
more days that I can get out of bed

that there are people who love me

people who need me and
I do not want to leave you

but I cannot keep waking up to this

my heart is heavy and
I hurt all over and

I’m tired of begging the world to stop spinning
I am too dizzy to stand here any longer

and it is not until my lungs collapse

that I know I love you

but it is too late
and I am so sorry

this is not an apology

I’m sick of saying “sorry”
when I take my clothes off for you

my body is beautiful
even if you never said so

I’m sick of saying “sorry”
for knocking back the bottles
harder than you knocked me around

this is not an apology

I don’t owe you anything
hell I never did

I’m sick of the sorries
because my lips were too slow
my tongue too fast

my hands never met the speed of your measure
the tick tick tick of your metronome

I’m not sorry for walking away
when this was only ever one sided

this is not an apology

and I am glad you’re gone

I am the reason you will live forever

the world would be a better place if

growing up I didn’t have to fight myself
on whether loving her was worth losing everything else

if it didn’t take years for me to come to terms with it
and finally admit what I was
like being gay is something I should be ashamed of

if I hadn’t got the easy end of it all

if day by day kids weren’t losing their homes
cause daddy didn’t like who
they were bringing home
and

if not every LGBT was a suicide risk
but there isn’t any bliss
in trying to hide your scars

the ones on your arms or
the ones in your heart

cause
not everybody understands
that just because a man loves a man
doesn’t mean that love isn’t anything but pure

the world would be a better place I’m sure

if just because I love a girl
didn’t mean it was the end of the world

my father loves the taste of bourbon

I do not know why
I am too afraid to ask

if it is because the burn it leaves in the back of his throat
and the pit of his stomach
is sweeter than that of his broken body

or if it is because after seven glasses
he forgets his middle name or that
his body is even broken at all

I do not know
I am too afraid to ask

if he is addicted to the alcohol
or just being able to move without wanting to scream in pain

the only nights my father sleeps
are those when he is too intoxicated to even stand

I do not know if he even likes the way it tastes
or if it’s just familiar now but

I have never been more scared than watching my father
stagger up the stairs to our door
and throw himself heavy onto the couch

thinking
what if this time he doesn’t wake up

I've never known anything simpler
Or more complicated than love

It is easy for me to love her when she grinds against my hand
Urging my fingers deeper
Her nails on my back and her breath on my ear

It is easy for me to love her when we are lying on my mattress
Blankets half thrown over us
Pillows scatter the floor
Half asleep it does not take much effort to smile because I can feel her on my chest

It is easy for me to love her when she straddles my lap
When her lips find mine in a frenzy of lust
Or when we are curled up with each other watching the same movie for the sixth time because we were too busy to pay attention for the first five

It is easy for me to love her when it is just us

When I tell my friends about her I have to keep myself from jumping up and down
Have to remember not to mention her name
I don't want her to face the consequences of loving me

It is hard for me to keep my hands to myself
To try not to lean into her kiss
I have to remind myself of who might be watching

It is hard for me not to hold her hand whenever I am close enough to reach her
To call her by her name in front of our parents because baby is the first word to touch my tongue

It is hard to listen to my friends talk about the way they would touch her
I always want to tell them she's mine
But I know she'll always be more than that

It is hard to pretend like I'm not so completely involved
I don't want to make the mistake of ruining what we have
And she deserves something better
I want to give her something better than “friend”

this is a feeling I thought I had almost forgotten

I haven’t felt this numb in months

this is why i stopped smoking so much

turned to a drug that at least made me feel something

I’m sick of biting my lip until it bleeds

I’m sick of having to remind myself that I am still real

And you don't talk to me like you used to
I wonder if you still write about the boy who ***** you
and do you think that gives Him power or
You?

and you've settled somewhere you feel like you belong
but half of my bed is still in the shape of you so really
what I meant

was when are you coming home
because nothing feels like home when you're gone

i made love to you with the lights on and called it a poem

every line was just the way i touched you like you meant something to me
fingertips tracing patterns between your freckles raised by the tiny hills of your cheekbones

how many different ways can i relate you to a flower blooming?
your legs stretching open at the touch of my lips

you can't imagine the way brown eyes look in the light if you haven't seen them for yourself