my shoes
vans bought from goodwill
for way less than they would be
in the mall store
with strawberry shoelaces that
are a bit too short
but effectively turn the shoes into
slip-offs
leave pine needles and dirt on the
old gray bus seat where my feet rested
as i read
head back against the window
skull knocking along with the bumps in the road
losing myself in someone else’s fictional life
as i stand to leave
i brush them off with a shaky hand
watching as they land on the floor
and brush the seat once more for good measure
wondering how many other pieces of myself
i have left behind me

“do cats understand time?”
i ask my cat
scratching under her chin
“or do you just move
between food and sleeping?”
“it’s been a year since honey bear died”
“do you miss her too?”

my cat gave no answer
not even a purr
but her eyes looked sad
and then i remembered that
after honey bear died
she would lay right where
the dog’s bed used to be
as if she were keeping watch

i still find dog hair
on some of my clothes
and the whole back seat
of my stepdad’s truck
is blanketed in her fur
it still smells like her

so does the closet
out in the livingroom
where her bed used to be
and sometimes
i still think i can hear
her toenails on the floor
her little huffing breath
and i miss her so much

i have had dreams
where i go to the back door
and call her name
over and over
leaning out of the doorway
and into the dark night
but she never comes
she never comes
and i wait
calling her name over and over
but she never comes

it’s been exactly one year
since she passed
a whole **** year
and it doesn’t feel anywhere
near that long
it feels like yesterday

my chest hurts
my heart aches
i feel hollow
i miss my girl so much
but
i know she is no longer in pain
she can see
and run without her hips hurting
there are no more needles
no more vet visits
but i miss her so

i love her
i love her
i lover her

hey!
yeah you
listen up
step away from the keyboard
and watch as my fingers fly
nimbly over the keys
never mind if it sounds like
i am smashing them into submission
chances are i am

but please try not
to cry or cringe
at what you see
it is one word
three letters
and i even went to the trouble
of putting spaces in between
B O Y

do you see that
that word
that wonderful magical
true and encompassing
word

it is you
and you are it
one and the same
B O Y

and even on the days
when you do not see it
there is someone out there
who will **** hickeys
into your chest
that spell out the word
and you will see that word
when you shower
or change
it will be there
like a bruise
blooming like a flower
against pale skin
B O Y

for this is what you are
through the good and the bad
whether you realized it at three
or forty
that is still valid
you are valid
and you always will be

you are a boy
******
you are male
and ***** be ******
because your ***** are
still bigger
they just hang from a different spot
but i understand the need and
the want to cut them off
and that does not make you a
bad person
it makes you
a survivor

you are doing
the best you can
in concerns to your body
and the world around you
i know this
i do

because i hear your voice
whenever i see a picture of you
and you are telling me that you
love me
and i know that you are scared
but you are still here
and that makes you a hero in my eyes

you are a boy
you are a boy
you are a boy
you are

if you pick me up
from my house
and find me standing in the driveway
fidgeting with my hands and tapping
my foot
it is not your fault

it is the feeling that i do not
deserve to be treated kindly
carved into my bones
and i am trying to scratch it out
because seeing your smile
makes tears sting my eyes
but the second i slide into
the seat next to you
and you put your hand on my knee
i already feel safer

if i spend more time
looking at the menu than at you
it is not your fault

i am not counting the calories
because they are not listed
and it is usually only hospitals that do that
but i am afraid to look you in the eyes
because all i will see is love
and a sparkle that i am afraid
i will ***** out

if i only eat a little bit of my food
and  ask the waiter to bring a to-go
box to the table along with our plates
it is not your fault

it is the flashbacks of my family
making fun of the way that i ate
one thing at a time
because even as a boy
i was already being wrapped tighter
and tighter in the grasp
of trauma-induced OCD

if i **** away when your foot
touches mine under the table
it is not your fault

nor is it really mine
and isn’t that strange
that my mother only doling out
cruel touches can still cling to me
even as a young man

if i only take one bite of the dessert
that you ordered just for me
it is not your fault
and i am sorry if i hurt your feelings

but even though the anorexia is
now just a faint whisper in the back of
my mind
it is still there
and at just a whiff of the sweet
i am barraged by the cruelty
in her eyes
when she told me how fat i was
and then praised and loved me
when i was nothing more than
skin and bones

if i go rigid when you hug me
and then bury my head in your shoulder
it is not your fault

i am not good at receiving affection
or kind words
because i grew up with a severe lack of both
and i had none of either left to give myself
because i did not know how to
but i want you to know
that standing there
in the circle of your arms
breathing in your distinct smell
i feel safe
and loved
like i’ve come home

1.Time is man-made
2. Gender is a social construct
3. You paid fifty dollars for glorified rubber and fabric
4. Shut up

my hands are shaking
not with anxiety
i tell myself sternly
but with the caffeine
and too sweet bagel i had
for lunch
this is a sugar rush
or it might be the cold
that is turning my toes pink
setting my teeth chattering
and making my chest tight
maybe it is something else
but i don’t want it to be
please just let it be the cold
and not some ridiculous fear
of being alone

i am just another echo
against the walls of
this house

i smell like a family
there is drool on my shoulder
blending into the fabric
of my flannel
where i held my friend’s baby
and i kissed her head and
her little face
and told her i loved her
and she giggled
and burbled back at me
and soaked my shirt in drool

there is dirt and grit
clinging to my skin
and my hair
where i held my friend close
after so many months of
radio silence on both our parts
and told him i loved him
and i smell like him
a lingering scent of
earth and travel
because for a nomad
the road is their home
but now he is so domestic
and underneath his usual smells
he smells like soap and clean clothes
and while this is strange
i am happy for him

i press myself into my friends
an extended family
ever expanding
i try to take in as much
of their scents as i can
because i naively hope that
i can drown out the smell
of fear and sleepless nights
and cold sweats that cling to me
i do not want to smell like my nightmares

i let them permeate my skin
and they stay with me
even if they are miles
and years away
i keep little parts of them
and they keep me going
they keep me whole

because family doesn’t
end with blood
but it doesn’t start there
either