I was told today
That my life choices
Offend some.
Offend,
The same word my editor used against me
As a precaution
When I told her
That I wanted to write an opinion article
About why Mark David Chapman
Should be released from prison.
I was warned that I would offend some readers,
And that was to be expected.
After all,
It was an opinion piece.

But today I was told
That some of my lifestyle choices offend
And I couldn't help but to ask:
"Which ones?"

At which point this woman lost her **** on me.
"How can you possibly be having relations with a man
So much older than you?
Isn't he graying?
Isn't he...
More mature, intelligent than
You?"

And I felt my world implode.
This woman, this foul, wretched beast with ****
Was openly denouncing
Everything I had built myself on over the last year.
And I could tell this woman
Went home to a white picket fence and
Screaming, spoiled, ******* kids,
And a husband who beat her ***
But was at least in her age range
Every night.

And I seethed.

And I sobbed.

With what wretchedness I took down the notes of the Earth today,
For it continued to turn
Even as I felt myself shattering inside.
How can one be so obsessed,
So offended by another's
Choice in love;
As if I even had a ******* choice
To begin with?

Who's to say
That even though I don't go home
With him every night,
That I don't go home to solace and peace
And all those other ******* things
I could never find
While making out with men my age
Who had whiskey and PBR on their breath
And strong, red cigarettes twisted in their knuckles?

Who is there to say
That love is not present
In our every move, our every caress
During the films we watch every time we see each other?
We watch The Shining and he holds me close
Because jump scares make me scream like a little *****.
We watch Moonrise Kingdom
And I can feel him kiss my cheek,
Making me blush
As he remarks on how we are so much like
Those children on the screen.
So in love.
So innocent.
So tender you could puke.

I have nightmares with every evening-fall
And he dies in each of them,
Making each night a new horror
That I have seen so many times.
I woke up screaming in his bed once
And he was clutching me from behind,
His arms coiling my midsection,
His panicked breath hot on my neck.

You don't cry over scaring someone
You do not love.

He loves video games,
Megaman's his favorite.
When he tells me the stories
Because the games are much too hard for me,
I see his brown, sparking eyes
Alight with a shine of wonder
And I know
He doesn't know that he's a hero in himself,
Much like his little blue childhood
Role model.

My picket fence
Could easily be sufficed
With the balcony of a small apartment
Or a suburban chain-link fence
So long as I know
That I am standing on or behind it
With him at my side.

Twelve years is not a death sentence in love,
Neither is being told that your choices are offensive.

There is a beauty that comes
With courting an older man.
Words flow easier,
Advice is given without judgement.
Arguments are had over
What the **** Alex Hirsch meant with that episode,
Rather than who the hell were you just texting?

I am young.
And I am in love,
The kind I would not mind
Inviting in for the rest of my days.

He is not graying.
He is not a monster.

He is my friend,
My lover,
My partner in crime,
The man I make watch too many Stanley Kubrick and Wes Anderson movies,
My darling,
My sweetheart,
And the light of my life.

I couldn't care less if that offends you.

the jade flecks in your eyes
form captivating constellations
that confess to me
the depth of your devotion.

if i found it in me
if i travelled to the depths of my humanity
and carved out a fragment of my soul
and wrapped it up in shiny paper
would you grant me a favor
would you take it

if i held your hand smiling
if you then followed me blindly
and i lit a pathway
and the flicker cast shadows on the wall
would you stay or would you crawl
would you let go

if you remained at my side
if i spoke of all the nights i've cried
and you fixed your gaze on your feet
and in your eyes was fear
would you whisper in my ear
would you tell me you still loved me

you're tracing circles
on my skin again. maybe,
we can stay right here.

Love too strong for
those who bear it
is a curse invoked
by a deficit of worth.

It is not enough to
seek validation through
a proxy designated
Heaven on Earth.

With no center of gravity,
no anchor in character,
obsession is the limit
of the capacity to love;

Projecting impossible
desires and untenable
expectations amounts
to blasphemy of.

True love may not be
forever or easy;
parting may never
be pleasant to bear;

Love is not merely
what's pleasing or comfortable;
love is a crucible;
love is not fair.

Those fleeting failures
and moments of error
are chances at triumph,
a challenge to change.

Breaking our boundaries,
ballooning outward:
love is inevitably
savage and strange.

Unbefitting to cling
to the bridge that enables
a star in its wand'ring
to cross the abyss;

To carry the ballast
of vast insecurity
over that chasm,
untenable risk;

Or swallow the poison
of foolish dependence
on whimsical paramours,
obesiance thereof,

To be hung from the neck
by detestable premises,
weak and debased
by untenable love.

When we were in our teens we were convinced that we had so much love to give, so much love to be in....But then break up after break up, you realize something: that wasn't love. Love is a force that exceeds past relationships. It is not to be confused with freshness or infatuation because when you finally fall in love it consumes your life, inevitably. It doesn't matter where your "relationship" stands, all that matters is that you love that person.

Sleep is gentler when my olfaction is full of
smoke and spice and a hint of shampoo
(like Christmas with you in a log cabin)
And my ossicles still vibrate with variations of my name
and low tones of “I love you”s without the actual
three words.

I find peace in the way our knuckles inhibit that perfect fit
of our fingers, but we lace them regardless.
It seems your thumb on my cheekbone
and your strength blanketing my quivering being
are the only things that normalize my oxygen flow
and slow my racing heart after a ****
memory-mare
(nightmares are bad enough
memories are worse)

And most nights,
when your calloused fingertips paint circles between my shoulder blades,
I wake in the early morning
not with a scream
but with a welcoming sigh
to that crooked smile meeting mine.

A night with you is a night safe from ghosts.

You never noticed me
When you did
I was nothing but a friend
My heart told me to do everything for you
But yours told you not to
I wanted more
You took my heart away
You pricked every vessel with your words
I bled to death because loving someone who doesn't love me
Is death to my heart