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my body is not a line you can draw parallels to
i am unfamiliar, and distinct, all curved and cracked edges
i am not straight.

my body is not a line you can draw parallels to
but i'll still find a way to sketch our similarities, a comparison;
shirts off and tracing the patterns of conventional beauty
like a dot-to-dot that doesn't align with the mass of me,
all my dips and swells:
a child that can't colour inside the lines

sometimes the ***** of my nose makes me wonder
how often i must lie to myself,
and my reflection repeats "i'm a real boy"
and we repeat, and repeat, and repeat until the mirror breaks.

i am real.
breathing.
alive.

fingertips pressed to my cheeks, and then
squeezing at the flesh of my hips
i push and stretch and pinch
this way and that
messing, fiddling, curious and carping;
but when i'm done, i don't ... do anything
other than walk away

despite the critical caricature of my image
this is not a confession of self hatred, but in fact
the opposite is true.

this is self-acceptance.
this is love.
this is learning.
this is healing.

i didn't notice when i stopped trying to please my eyes
i just know that i did
and once i focused on me, not my mirror
i was happier with what i saw anyway

see, my scars are more visible in my eyes than on my skin, but
if you look closely enough
you can see the trajectory from despair to kindness
wounds dressed with watercolours, and smiles
and a promise that i'd give myself a second chance

and life got one too
god is dead; his body's in the attic
i didn't do it, though everybody's at it
this isn't blasphemy, it's freedom from fanatics
all that dark sky, light leaks where we cracked it

don't pray, your palms cannot clasp the chasm of your heart
your redemption's only received if your sorrow's sketched in art
frame it, mail it, burn it; give your love a fresh start
you don't owe apologies to god, only who you've wronged

you didn't need to cry yourself to sleep
all your words could be ours to keep
what you can't admit, i know it's deep
but ignoring the wound will make it seep

there's no shame when mistakes are confessed
i'll forgive you once the crime's addressed
but keep lying to me? lies will be undressed
the world a ****** to the guilt you've repressed
George Anthony Dec 2019
the night slipped by in blurs that later i’ll only recall as
weakness, salted and sticking,
suffocating symphony
of strangers’ scorn and lack of sympathy
when my emotions took ahold of me,
and let me fall apart
exposed, like a nerve, raw and throbbing

why’d you come to a singles party with a soulmate?
ah, i didn’t think you could see
the ghost that lingers,
ghost of all the things he did to me
clings like lovers’ fingers gripping tight and bruising flesh
this time, i’m not moaning
there’re no marks on my skin, just

pain i can’t cherish and
i must confess
you felt like the devil but you looked
like a god, and how
i couldn’t comprehend the correlation
between the face of an angel wearing the sneer of beast,
as your serpent tongue did intoxicate me
with equal measures of lust and loathing
for both myself and you, our
relationship like my stubborn swallowing
of stomach turning tequila
just to prove something:
i can take the burn
put on a brave face so you can’t see how much i’m restraining
George Anthony Oct 2019
you are lying on your back in a bed 5,487 miles away from home.
there are geckos trilling from the corridors and the trees cast shadows in the room
above the door, the air con whirs and you shift, sticky, skin sweating against starched cotton sheets
too hot, too humid, too much

everything is too much, but at least it’s too much here instead of too much back there;
you visit temples, vast and golden in their glory, and white and intricate in their purity; ocher where the sun has kissed blessings upon their pillars,
and pretend that you too are subjected to the numinous nature of sanctums and their spirits
and pray they don’t notice that the awe in their eyes isn’t reflected in yours,
hope they don’t sense that you are not here to heal, only to stretch old wounds into splitting open anew

you are ruining your life

you are ruining your life somewhere beautiful that’s been the making of so many others’ lives
but you always strived to be different, never recognising
that agony, despair, self-deprecation, self-victimisation, suffering—they’re the most common connecting factors between all humans
you are the same as the other six billion people aching and crying and spitting anger in their sorrow,
blind to the one billion who’re trying to make the world a better place so the rest of you might smile a little more often.

one of the geckos scurries across the ceiling and you flinch,
a moment of fear for the unknown before you settle once more and simply watch his little legs fidget his body to freedom through the slats of your propped open window.
inside your chest there’s a moment of heavy silence as your heart grapples for a connection between you and that little creature
both small little things striving to survive in a world too large, too bright, too crowded yet too empty
chasing freedom like a child chases a dream.

the moment passes.
your heart regains pace and your mind whirs with the lonely static of too much me time

you are ruining your life
not realising you’re weaker to suffer than you’d be if you tried to heal
George Anthony Sep 2019
sad
i’ve been letting the duloxetine
melt on my tongue
in the hopes of speeding up the process
of tricking my brain into quiet

like maybe the bitter taste
will let the thoughts evaporate
George Anthony Sep 2019
i want to write love poetry
about you; you make me feel
ethereal things
like safety and happiness,
and warmth that sparks smiles
in split seconds at random times
no care that others wonder
‘what’s on his mind?’

and i don’t care that i can’t have you,
that there can never be an us.
i’m so content with our current content,
the bits and pieces
that make us who we are
to each other; i am happy
just accepting whatever you give
and never asking for more
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