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 Apr 2014 Thia Jones
Lane
Five years ago
I knew an 8th grader
who felt ashamed for who he was
who felt constantly out of place
who tossed and turned at night
     with deep enough despairs
     with ideas of throwing it all away
     with plans for those actions
     with no dreams, and only one long nightmare

Three years ago
I knew a sophomore
who finally just started to accept it
who reached out and tried
who thought everyone felt the same
     with only blank stares for replies
     with only confused "friends"
     with no family backing
     with no true "inner circle"

Last year
I knew a senior
who carried the burden alone
who perfected his mask
who finally learned how to hide
     with perceived success
     with sarcasm and quick jokes
     with pushing everyone away
     with justified fear of opening up

This year
I know a college freshmen
who is struggling for acceptance of himself
who brags of the physical scars
who is afraid to reveal the deeper ones
     with walls as big as he could muster
     with iron bars to conceal what is beneath
     with pandora's box within
     with that same scared kid locked inside.
The way he mouths her name
His precise tone and articulation
sends her crazed and off the edge
a bliss with no resuscitation
Exploring every inch with callused touch and hesitation
Whispered moans in exclamations
His kiss. His body. Her adoration
They build their high in accumulation
Released in sync, their exhilaration
Silent physical communication
Coming down with slow deceleration
They meet eyes and mouths in gratification
to slowly fall in reveries
from their affair and liberation
© 2014 by Jazzelle Monae. All rights reserved.
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