my mind is a football stadium
filled with sports anchors
hallowing our conversation
in class
the other day

did I say this right?
did you mean your laugh?

i am nothing but a child!
mazed by a fable or
some sort of
fairy book story

i imagine the other day in
class, wanting it to be
all days
all moments
in different aisles of hallways
different shades of walls

i am still a child

picking on my mind
like a sunflower on valentines day
"will he like me"
"will he not"

and you have nothing to do with this
but you are everything to blame

my poems are just passive voices
asking you questions without saying your name
indirectly

it is 10:03 I am
lying between the covers of my bed
pondering when you told me you like music

i am listening to the
same song
over and over
each time,
thinking of you
differently

Cloud, moving waters,
Ripples, soft white leaf on lake—
Shape of neck spells name.

Fill the remnants of your broken soul
with trash tv and sad songs so you
don't have to feel the emptiness
that lies where he, his body still warm
from the morning sun, spilled
drink and the secrets of his soul.

we aren't your playgrounds
we are not your anything
you are our equals