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mybarefootdrive May 2020
Sometimes I wonder
How many others
have frequented this same spot,
have felt heavy limbs drop.
Passive to what came next-
As if no amount of questioning could save their fate.
Have had their heart broken at King's Cross Station..

What possessed you to purchase a one way train ticket-
skipping school, breaking a perfect attendance record
seemingly on a whim?
Starting a new term, boredom ensued,
adventure beckoned.
Recent changes in behaviour surely set the scene.

Were you summoned by false promises-
Lured into the arms of a man you felt compelled to meet
On a week day, in the city?
I could have sat in the same train carriage
I could have met your eye.
Remembering the whirlwind that was, 14.
Writing in a diary no one would ever read.
Shredding into pieces, aged 18.
Forgive me,
I couldn't fathom seeing 18, at, 14.
Far fetched in forgetting time marches on,
being stuck in a place of pain.
Clinging on to suggestive song lyrics,
suggesting being Queer was okay.

Did he tell you it would be Okay?

You wore your favourite band t-shirt, had awoken late
in an irritable mood that morning.
Out of character, they said.
They traced any internet activity  
any possible CCTV sightings.
You had lost a mobile phone over a year ago.
The trail of answers quickly ran cold
the stream of questions would never end.

Your dad felt you might have struggled with your sexuality
though you never explicitly said anything.
Shame can embody you, silence you.
At 14 it can surely threaten to suffocate you!
I still ache for the shame I let cover curious green eyes,
for the sugar mouse she promised me at 14,
for the arms I kept by my sides.
''It gets better'' is the narrative attempt to reassure you on YouTube,
but how many difficult years must first pass until it is bearable?

Hindsight is a luxury afforded only with time.

Sometimes I wonder
How many others
have frequented this same spot,
have felt heavy limbs drop.
Passive to what came next-
As if no amount of questioning could save their fate.
Have had their heart broken at King's Cross Station?
mybarefootdrive May 2020
It was the weight of you sat resting against my knees.
The ease with which your features lit up around me.
"He likes boys" you tell me.
And I smile back,
as wide as I can stretch my lips.
I try to make my face beam like his.
I try to match his effortless moon face.
And remember what it is like to thrive off simple joys.
For I am 28, and felt the cynicism of life's scorn.
I have weathered worn skin and a patch of white hairs in my beard.
But, I swear I will never let you see the furrowed brow of a frown around me.
And I thought of being a father and it struck me how natural holding someone else's son felt.
I couldn't help but steal nervous glances at his father for fear of taking his place.
Walking straight into it, as if putting on his shoes.
mybarefootdrive Oct 2018
In the secret passageway where we had been hiding out, avoiding the end of term Information Technology lesson H and I explored our similarities and differences.

You were a scholarship girl, a bright 12, to my slow to develop, 13.
You turned to leave,
leave me with your pearls of wisdom
utterances which would simultaneously excite and unnerve me.
Do you know I looked up the word lesbian for the second time?
You rattled me, poking at me, unlayering like an onion.

I extended my hand before my mind could take on the full summit of actions and direct consequences, of implications.
My body took the lead, you whipped around, your mouth agape, ''H'', a hoarse whisper and a quizzical yet knowing look.
You held my gaze and we both knew at that moment the truth that lived between us.
mybarefootdrive May 2018
I have only ever kept two cards in my lifetime.
Both I treasure.
One of which my brother called me his brother for the first time.
It only took 29 years.
The other, you addressed me as ''darling'' inside.
You can see how much you mean to me.
The closest I have ever got to the real thing.
mybarefootdrive Jan 2017
Sometimes it feels like a distant memory,
there is fog in its place.
But I see the plea in your eyes
and I try my hardest to remember.

Hanging off my every word,
and you use adjectives
that have not been subject to my ears
for ever such a long time.
Amazing.
The spark in your eyes flaring, wildly.
Excitedly.
mybarefootdrive Nov 2016
Its getting increasingly closer..
We're getting increasingly closer.
Opening up is like moving a dam thats been lodged tightly in place for years.
And what if all you see is rupture underneath?
Sometimes I'm not sure if I have feeling left in the vicinity of this body
so many numbed 'I'm fines' over the years.
But what if someone was really listening?
What if you touched me and my body responded
in the form of a deep set howl?
A wail of tears neither of us are prepared for-
because I've worn my vulnerability on every corner of this face
and I shake, I stutter, when I even muster the courage to allow
syllables leave my mouth.
And too many associated memories..
I try and allow myself to forgive-
myself.
mybarefootdrive Sep 2016
Sometimes I think of her
as I am pursued by him.
When do you know to ask a woman out?
When is the line from friendly chat to potential dating material
moved?
I'd have liked to think my past could clarify situations like this-
but I am oblivious, haven't the foggiest.
The testosterone has provided a thick mist of confusion, a smog, its flooded my brain, nothing will ever be the same.
A barrier between myself and my most protected feelings.

Sure, I'd kiss him, it'd probably feel nice,
but I'd like to spend more time talking to her,
really talking.
If *** was an experience in making love
if we ran out of conversation
and wanted our bodies to fill in the rest.
If it just felt good to be close to somebody.
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