All wrapped up in flannel
A bouquet, of sorts -
Of love, maybe
Pride, maybe
Effort, always.
It has to be hard
to be earned.
Jump for the flowers,
Make them come to you.
this body right now
Feels like summer
Like home
Soft, capable, and
mine.
This body right now,
My body,
Finally feels as so.
credit my clothes,
Grant them power,
Make them make me
but in all honesty,
this body is more
Than flannel-shirt deep.
A blossom, of sorts
underneath
of love, maybe
of pride, maybe
Of me.
Writing this
feels a bit like a prayer
sometimes,
Most times,
This self-love
gets tangled in
it's fair share of
Misfirings
Miscommunications
And doubts.
Without it,
I have learned
To feign
Self-hood.
But with it,
Now,
I can claim
This body.
I claim it
for love.
And mostly,
For pride;
whatever that is
For you
Whatever you are
To me.

I love them all in the most platonic possible way

and I know they love me too.

If only we could sit together always,

just telling each other stories,

I’d listen to their blues and help them with the words. 

The music keeps us all close I feel like.

I’ve secured this little army of boys that would **** for me and I, for them.

But the years have done damage on us all and our journeys have led us down different roads.

Once a flock,

us birds fly our own way now. 

Some of us heading north for the winter and others seek shelter elsewhere.

But there was a time that we found each other and this time will come again.

And when we do,

we’ll cozy up by the fire once more and go for drives like we always have, 
Justin Vernon sometimes and 
“Through the fields, somewhere there’s blue” will soundtrack our misfirings at the universe and youthful adventures with the desert, our canvas. 

Arizona, our home base.

Thanks for teaching me how to love, boys. Until next time.