i sit by the window watching the sun
go down into the horizon, tasting his tongue
on my breath, sweet and sickening like
fruit pastilles or a persimmon, homelike

it reminds me of my future with him
it reminds me of my past without him
all those years wasted not knowing
my love would meet me in that

dead end old school, where hate is bred
and stupidity is taught in what students read
they don’t know anything about life
about love, religion, repentance, longing

for his eyes, his speckled face glistening
in the late-afternoon sunlight listening
to my ramblings about this or that
sometimes his finger pit-pats

on the desk where i first found myself
a sea of endless pain and anguish rescued
by my foolish love, another pointless beckoning
quenched by lack of reckoning

i sit by my window
waiting for him

Love and passion are often confused–
I began with something real.
Love and passion don’t walk side by side, love
tears down walls with a hurricane of butterfly wings

and passion walks easily through the rubble.
I don’t believe in the thrill of the chase, the
opposites attract, or the love that's formed
between two people lost together at sea. Fake.

I’ve experienced 100 exciting-stressful things
but I’ve only experienced 1 you. And they have not
felt the same. The night we met in front of canes
I had lied to my father, and my mother, to see you.

I hated the thrill of the lie, driving with you high,
off devices I couldn't name, I hated that.
But we kept going and chatting, I ignored a stop sign
Sure that I would get pulled over, knuckles red-white,

But you spoke sweetly, said it was ok, I think we knew
that I was colorblind to red when it came to you, and you
smiled when I called with my friends, and you looked so pretty
in the streetlights, and we talked like it was easy. I loved that.

One fish asks another, How’s the water today? The second replies,
What is love? It’s okay if it doesn’t make sense to you—
it makes sense to me, like the way I needed you
before I even knew your name. and honestly

It feels like I met you twice, on the luckiest day of the year, and
the luckiest day of my life, and again in a Kalhert parking lot.
Disappointedly sober, so we crawled into each other unprotected,
And shared songs like pieces of ourselves.  I met you there.

To have learned love from you, I am eternally grateful
that I will never have to feel love turn to hate, or feel
the sting of betrayal, because we weren’t perfect together
but you were perfect with me, and you handled my heart gently

I Think how wonderful it is that I have loved you, because you have
given me love in the buildings and in the trees, and countless things
that bring me back to the thought of you, and I will love to take my walks
and hear your smile, in the way the wind blows through the reeds, of our preservation

This year began in march-
       The best part
                Of any ride is always
                             Near the end
                So that when it is over
         You wish deeply
                To start again-
                      I wanted to go
                           Towards a riotous
                Celebration, but I forgot
          To invite my mom,
Or common sense.
                  I was far too busy being
                          “Happy”
                         ­  I was indulging in
                 Bite-sized love
          And becoming intoxicated
                             With admiration.
                     Colby left town in march
       To fall in love with bad habits
                     Hopefully he’ll be home by Christmas,
           Or at least New Years

I am a nameless creature so fluid,
Never the same from day to day.
I pinned myself down too soon,
On a whim I named myself.
It was the wrong time for it,
I was not ready and didn't think.
Now I am 17,
No longer the scared 13 year old I was.
The name I chose was wrong.
My parents detested it too much,
And it just wasn't mine.
I know no name shall feel like mine,
Not more than a few months,
But that's okay with me.
I will pin myself down again,
My name is now Max.
It may stick,
It may not.

They unearthed me like a secret they couldn’t bear to keep, unready, unwilling.
As I stood there, bare-souled,
Like love was a crime to confess.
words trembling on my tongue.
I whispered, “I’m human. I feel. Be gentle.”
But my plea dissolved in the silence.

They looked through me,
not as kin, not as blood,
but as something broken,
a stranger,a sinner,a shame.
So I unhooked my heart,
learned to float through the ache,

Years of silence,
Wrapped in cold shoulders.
Now they ask:
"Why don’t you call?"
"Why don’t you text?"
Strange, isn't it?
How absence echoes louder
than presence ever did.

And still,
I carry on,
not untouched,
but unbroken.

Written by Micko
©️1.05.2025.All rights reserved.

I have never heard a love song
That reminded me of you.
No words can describe your love,
Your eyes, your smile, your laugh.

They write these love songs,
Ones that never describe us well.
Always a man and a woman,
Usually nothing that we feel.

I want to write a love song,
One about only us.
To paint what we have,
A picture beyond human imagination.

I can't write a love song
That does you justice.
You are far too beautiful for words,
And too breath-taking for music.

A love song for you would be impossible,
You are too lovely for words.
Even in poems I am stuck,
Rambling about you, but never enough.

I like them bedroom bullies,
Them nasty dominant  *******,
Put them tatas on me ,
Let them suffocate me ,
And even if I die,
It would be with a good cause,
Gently choke my neck,
Change them gears ,
Do some quick acceleration,
There comes some flapping  sounds,
Down the hill we roll,
Swimming in our own sweat,
As my lips whisper your name, "zaddy",

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