Where are your wings?
I quite liked them.
Liked your eyes,
I could sink in that blue ocean of mysteries.
You knew what my silence is speaking about,
You knew how to stop the rain of my darkest thoughts.
You knew which is my favourite pizza,
How many spoons of sugar...
Clouds are blooming in the sky,
I can see that while sitting inside the room with no windows.
The emptiness flooded the streets
In the city with no you.

That night you told me we were the same kind of crazy.

I take a peek at you through my Wells goggles. I've had a sip too much of my grapefruit ***** and we are the only two people in the bar.

I'm light as a feather and with gin nipping at our noses, we let Jack Frost drive the car that night.

That's the thing though, sober or not it's all the same game. The wells is just gasoline to ignite our volatile roulette.

Drink number two still as pink but this time I'm ******* faster. I'm trying to imagine that the lime at the bottom taste like your lips and I am inching towards your soul.

That night you told me we were the same kind of crazy.

Chemical malfunctions in our past, led us to that moment. Infinite understanding of misunderstanding.

I'm light as a feather and I let you drive home, but I never asked if I could stay.

I cannot do simple math to save myself from blushing. As people start trickling in I count my breath and catch the eye of a familiar stranger.

He was wearing the most arousing scarf.

I wish that was your scarf.

With Jack Frost waiting in the car and grapefruit in my veins I count the steps synchronising the strides with my heartbeat.

**** it's cold. Please let me hold your hand.

Pack the bowl, pack the ****, pack the one-y

Isn't it funny that rhymes with honey.

Glossy eyes and records. Your White as fresh snow sheets.

I digress.

Why do you always make me leave?

I could just lie with you, I'd just like to listen to you.

We talk, but vaguely. I wish you'd open up to me.

I'm sorry.

Comfort keeps us swollen, but what we have is frail.

Maybe I don't love you, but I don't feel cold to you either.

Give me something to think about when you aren't around.

You're my friend.

Platonic, no depth, just silence.

My vocal absence attempts to create space for your stories.

What are you about? How did you get here? What happened to make you untrusting of my company?

These are these things you think I cannot see.

Somewhere in our cloud of smoke is the door to your heart.

I don't want it to be mine, I just want it to tell me stories.

The truth of it is-

he's not going to fix you

she's not going to make you forget
the way your father would hit you

He is not going to make your collarbones sprout roses
He will not make you forget how to need

The truth of it is-

She is not a savior
She is not able to fight off the demons in your dreams

He will not make you forget the way your mother left
The bloodstains in the bathtub will still be there

The truth of it is-
This is your life
This is not a movie

No one is going to swoop in and save you

You will have to grow your own wings if you want to fly away

I am terribly sorry that I ran into you.   I can see that you are a bit puzzled because you think that you know me. Perhaps we have met a time or two or maybe every holiday last year, but I don’t blame you for forgetting. You see, I have changed…quite a bit and I can tell that you are very confused. It’s not the way you are looking at me or the way that I am looking at you, or the way that you are looking at me looking at you or the way that I am looking at you looking at me.  Wait, why are you looking at me? Oh yeah, you are probably wondering whether or not to ask me if I am that sweet little innocent queer barista at the nearby coffee shop down the street or the “****** up ****” that your daughter so disgustingly fell in love with during her crazy high school phase.  Yeah… that may or may not have been me. You know, you might want to tell your daughter to call me because she left some things at my house and I have been trying to get them back to her for years now.

Oh uh…Who am I you ask? It seems that you still aren’t following me. I mean my identity means nothing to you…or at least it shouldn’t, but I will try to enlighten in the best way that I can. You see, my identity has always been the person that you see before you. It’s just that for most of his life, he was trapped under the softly sweet smelling perfumes and make up that tortured him for a good solid 15 years.  His identity masked from everyone around him. The man you see before you is indeed the imaginary boyfriend that your daughter claimed to have all those years of middle school because she refused to bring him home for fear that her parents would call her a lesbian. He may or may not also be the “****” that you refused to acknowledge every night at dinner on every freaking holiday he was at your house every year during high school; Your daughter’s Lesbian friend that was conjoined to her hip 24/7. Little did you know, I was the boy she wanted to marry, the one and only person she ever felt loved her. He hid in plain sight for several years. Yet you never noticed. That is, until the night you caught us.

You see, I am not the Lesbian that converted your daughter. Or even the “****” that ruined her life. I am the boy who has always been by her side through everything. The man who promised to forever remain by her side, through whatever life tossed her way. I fell in love with her on the first day of 6th grade and I haven’t stopped loving her since. She will forever be the love of my life and….Wait why are you crying? I have some news that might cheer you up. You know that sweet boy that your daughter has been seeing, who she has refuses to bring to dinner? Yeah…you may or may not be looking at him. Let me introduce myself, I’m Aimes.

The memory of you may fade someday, just as the scars on my body. Equally the pain you left behind may never be seen to the naked eye, but you don't need a microscope to decipher the origin of my torture.

The moment I decided to begin to forget you, my body began to fight back. Attempting a last ditch effort to stay committed to you. It continued to taunt me. Reminding me time and time again that resisting the urge to love you was an ugly futile effort that most likely acted as the key factor to my demise.

You are a part of me. No matter how much I fight it. You moulded me into something so vile and vindictive, yet so passionate and loving.

In breaking me, you taught me how to love. And what to avoid. And how to reject someone.

This is brainwash I'm spewing. I still believe that who you made me to be is actually someone I need to be. Consequently I'm lost whenever you are around because without you I cannot function.

My thoughts are tirades. My emotions are garbage. You might as well give me a name tag that says Oscar because day by simple little day I still wallow in the filth you created through the mind games and the mental torture.

You abused my gullible delicate soul. My fragile heart couldn't bare to watch me suffer so I broke off a part of it and left it behind as a parting gift. For you and only you.

How ****** up must I have been to deem you the only recipient of my good byes. I was only dishing out what you wanted hear... What you trained me to do.

I may have gotten rid of you, but what you left behind were the unbearable scars of your love.

I can't breath through the PTSD.
I can't breath through the foggy memory of your love.

I loved you, but you broke me.

Your love is a torture that I don't have the luxury of abandoning.

You bled me dry. Every fiber belongs to you.

To this day, I still strive to please you.

That is the sick truth of our love.

There's a reason there's a path outside your door
that leads to a road
that leads to an interstate,
that leads to an airport.

And there's a reason that planes fly from that airport
to one near here.

Same reason that airport has a road
that leads to a highway
a highway that they are repairing as we speak
that leads to my town
to a path that leads to my door

And its not just coincidence.

Any more than its coincidence that you are reading this.

I am tired, I am worn
For this is the calm after the storm
Heart beat ceases to race
Everything seems to fall into place
Take comfort in cycles and patterns,
Separate the insignificant from what matters
History repeats itself they say,
The universe works in funny ways
So push thoughts of growing older,
Of growing colder, of forgetting to be bolder
To the back of my mind
Shelved away somewhere difficult to find
And think instead of stories that turn out okay
Think of the sound of waves and rainy days
For I am slowly breathing
Almost sleeping
Nearly dreaming
Simply being.

You can’t
explain
the world in
Haiku.
It’s more complicated
than that.

If you know everything,
seventeen syllables
are just not enough!

So, I like to
break the rules
and write my Haiku in
eighteen syllables.

Oh ****!
If I ever write
another Haiku,
shoot me
for Chrissake
and put me out of my misery.
There. That’s thirty four syllables.
**** it.
And there’s two more
just for the hell of it.
Now I feel a lot better.
I’m free.