you’re on stage singing songs that sound like sunshine now
but will soon sting like scorpions incapable of “sorry”
in the crowd i sway back and forth
pretending you are serenading me
i sleepover at your house so many nights a week
i’ve forgotten the feel of the softness of my own silk bedsheets underneath my skin
and when we have *** you tell me to shut up because the walls in this house are thin and your sister is asleep in the room next to us
so i surrender myself to you in silence
and i always ask you to hold me afterwards but you say that i am too sweaty
when you finally slip into a serene sleep
i sneak out of your bedroom and into your bathroom and i sit on the ceramic tiles and sob, wondering why i always feel so sad after you’re done with me
you’re my silly sweet boy but sometimes you feel like something scary, something that makes my stomach uneasy
like a savage i can never satisfy
like a savior that will never forgive my sins
like an unbalanced somersault of a little kid
[cynical celebrations of sadness]