Am I a demon? That is what they're saying Am I ******* Satan? Or is Satan ******* me? Am I the gay best friend, is that all I am? I can be sassy, flamboyant but never enough to really defend from the arrows and throes of men So tell me what I am tell me what I got to be So tell me what I am tell me what is stopping me From Heaven's end, even if I repent? Will my sins not be cleansed in the sea There is not much difference in sin from you to me
arms outstretched, I reach for the stars I was always told to want only to find that I'm tracing myself against murky, illegal water in pink nectar. I'm too rough unexperienced nerves get the best and I dip down ever so slightly not bothering to take a breath. as I slip under the fruity grip the lake of liquid freedom clouds my vision. fear. a calm, calloused hand hardened from time from life from love cups my cheeks and breathes into me with her petal lips sticky against mine a reminder. I float back up before I get a good taste I twist and turn against the current hissing against the surface Solidago and Indian Mallow smeared across the sky reflecting against me until I'm nothing but the fuzz of a peach
he remembers the day when he got called up. "he's 20," his mother said. "he's my little baby."
even the thought of leaving his family was absolutely horrendous.
when he arrived however, he saw you. god, how could someone look so ****** good so effortlessly so innocently yet not so innocently as the clothes you were wearing basically supported the term of violence.
he's a mummy's boy, he'll cry himself to sleep every night, feeling unsafe. he felt so safe, dear lord. even i feel so safe.
today, you offered him canned beans. (you also referred to him as 'mate', which is not exactly what he wanted you to call him, but it's fine as long as you're happy) he finds beans quite gross icky tasteless yuck yet he ate until the can was empty he guessed it was to please you (?) and he wouldn't forgive himself if he ever rejected you. anyone who tried to deny you must be out of their mind.
anyway. might be talking *******, but he really hopes you'd offer him some canned beans again.
Snow piles up against the walls, but thin clothes are all they wear As the boy gardens within the greenhouses behind the school, Red, bright tomatoes slipping out of his fingers, and popping into his mouth That grins at the bursts of sweetness. Inches from him, the man by one month pretends not to glance his way Instead shifting through the bristling leaves to claim breakfast’s zucchini.
He would complain at the theft if the tomatoes weren’t everywhere Making bland meals of packaged rice and canned beans a savory impossibility. It isn’t like little indulgence will take away all of the red little briberies, The secret keys to a reluctant community spreading its arms wide months after the pair stumbled in.
The man scowls, and the boy glances up Not hiding his interest like his companion. The solution to anger is always tomatoes, So the next slip of fingers is against the man’s lips As he bites down, the sweetness pops away mild irritation in the flavor of surprise. Neither gives in to smiles, but their shoulders brush more than once as the tension seeps out with the heat into the snow.
I like tomatoes quite a bit, so of course there would eventually be a little cute moment with cherry tomatoes. -This poem a part of the "Life Will Bloom in Our Shadows" poetry collection on Wattpad