David Bojay: Favorites

Feb 2014 David Bojay

marina

i.
no matter what your teachers
may tell you, your grades are not a
measure of how smart you are, that
has more to do with how you handle your
heart, and i have never seen anyone love
more fiercely or smart than you.

ii.
i have let boys touch me just because
i was scared to lose them; don't let them
lay a hand on you without you asking
them to, you are worth more than that.

iii.
people will walk away, but you've known
that already.  keep your chin up so that when
they turn back one last time, they know that
you don't need them.
you don't need them.

iv.
i hope you find somebody that holds your
hands, even when you're nervous and
they start to sweat.  if they pull away,
you come find me and i swear,
i won't let go.

i just love her more than words

Feb 2014 David Bojay

Mis-spelt

Feb 2014 David Bojay

Amanda

Mis-spelt

Misspellings.

Coincidental; little mistakes
that make us
oh, so very
human.

A stroke or a little flick of ink that makes that dizzying difference
between what your lips wants to say
and
what is starkly conventional.

But trust me,
sweets,
when I write
I love you
at the
very end of
creased
coffee-stained and red lipped marked
napkins.

It isn't quite a mistake.

Hush those slightly alarmed eyes.

Perhaps, it's just my white heart painted red's
blissful
*fall.

Hi Hi Hi!
How are you today, lovely?
I hope you enjoyed this little daydream I've written into words.
x
P.S This one is for you, Sabina.

Jan 2014 David Bojay

stop being so afraid.

Jan 2014 David Bojay

Lappel du vide

stop being so afraid.

im so tired
weary
of cliches
"jet black"
"startling green"
"angry red"
you have thousands of words sleeping on
even the smallest bit of your fingernail,
but you refuse to leave the comfort
of words already said.

stop being afraid to yell into the
murky atmosphere of this spinning world
that you are not a cliche,
you are a burning fire
with insides of
rupturing darkness,
and dripping, drying green,
and soft, whispering red.

you are a poet,
use the tools of creation which the universe
has planted within your palms.

Jan 2014 David Bojay

Three Years

Jan 2014 David Bojay

rachel

Three Years

Three years ago your doctor gave you a diagnosis
You took his words and twisted them until each individual letter fell onto the floor with a loud thud
You carved the word into your skin and let it sink deep until it reached your heart
Depression
You let the word rip apart your veins and tear at your porcelain skin
You shoved the word
Sadness
Down your throat until you could no longer breath without feeling that word in every single inch of your body
Three years ago you picked up a blade and sliced through your arm
Spelling out the word
Anxiety
You let this word convulse throughout your soul
And you let it trap you in a glass box that could shatter at the slightest touch
You felt the words inside of you
And you let them break every part of you
You burned the word
Anxious
Into your brain and you let it char every bit of matter left
Three years ago your doctor gave you a diagnosis
You starved until the words were scarred into you organs in order to let you know that you were killing yourself with this word
Eating disorder
You deprived yourself of the things you needed because you thought it would **** the other words that you've placed on yourself
The doctor said that you were killing yourself
And you merely said
"Okay"

It's been three years
And you are covered in scars from the words you've carved into yourself
But the only difference is,
You're not letting these words rule over you any longer
You are strong
You are braver
You are better
Because you decided that these words do not control you
These words are not a life sentence

Jan 2014 David Bojay

aching

Jan 2014 David Bojay

Lappel du vide

aching

can we go swimming in
Argentina already,
and fill our hair with knots and ocean salt?

can we walk swaying like the tide,
along the damp, moon-lit breast of the beach
and fill the empty bottles in our clenched fingers
with lavender and red ocher,
a pallet of dawn
reflecting off glass?

can we drink coconut water in
beer bottles,
and drape ourselves in hanging hammocks under a
wide eyed sky?

i only want to listen to the distant roar
of water attacking sand,
like soft, silk whispers in a
salt canopied bed,
crickets chirping through the night time
warmth,

and tropical, sleeping
breath
slowly unleashed.

lets go.

Jan 2014 David Bojay

New York pt. 4

Jan 2014 David Bojay

Lappel du vide

New York pt. 4

i'd search for a boy with
honey colored hair like tousled, dry
summer grass
and a face of
sculpted
clay,
where creases are made at the edges of his eyes,
the echo of his grin.

he whispers his poetry harshly
with lips like racing animals,
his strong voice sinks into the ocean of
night
like an empty bottle
in a leaky boat.

i'll find where his lips
softly kiss the body of a
cigarette before bed.

then i'll eat some tobacco
and light myself on fire in his
sheets.

Jan 2014 David Bojay

facing the world

Jan 2014 David Bojay

frivolous treasures

facing the world

we were
sitting so close,
and he pulled
our blue and white
plaid blanket
over our heads.

this is where
we shared our first
kisses,
and our first
"i love you's"
and lost our
first innocences.

and underneath
he whispered in
my ear,
"we are hiding from
the world,
just you and I.
and then we
will face the world
together"

and so we are.

— The End —