Do you know The Wikipedia Game?
The one where you find a page
from another page. Let’s say
The Beatles from The USA.

This would be tricky,
you’d have to cross the Atlantic.
But they did, so it would
be written. There, you’ve found
it, somewhere hidden. The past,
replayed
in games, virtual roleplays.

Hyperlinks to hypertexts,
DDOS on the hyper hearts.

Do you know The Synonym Game?
I have played for years and it’s always the same.

To the girl with long brown hair,
Your eyes are intoxicatingly intricate,
And I didn’t notice until
They wouldn’t leave my head.
Until they were all I could see...
Until they had left a haunting on my heart.
•••
To the girl with glasses,
I didn’t realize what was missing.
I didn’t know how I needed you...
And suddenly you were there...
And I felt whole.
•••
To the girl who smells of soap
and ocean waves,
I didn’t- couldn’t- express my feelings.
That day that you expressed yours.
Inside my heart, an unpredictable sea.
But the storm has passed,
and I know now.....
But it’s too late,
Opportunity missed,
like a leaf in the wind.
•••
To the girl who sings,
You feel of late night vibes,
A constant reminder of delirious laughter
And whispered secrets.
...
I know you have to go,
I even understand that you’ll be back...
I know it shouldn’t make a difference,
But it does
And I’m still hurting.

•••
To the girl of roleplays,
I know it’s lame to say this,
But when our characters,
Touch and love and kiss...
My stomach gets a million butterflies
And my heart does backflips.
•••
To the girl named Avery,
If I could express my feelings,
I would.
But you feel for another,
And my parents restrict on who I can love,
So I will sit here,
In my veil of       S   I   L   E   N  C   E
•••
To you, my sweetheart...
You make every day worth living,
And I know we hugged goodbye,
But I still cried myself to sleep last night.
•••
To the girl I love,
You are the most;
Smart, kind, ethereal, funny and cunning
person that I know.
•••
I can imagine us in our twenties.
In only our T-shirt’s and underwear,
We cook and dance.
It’s early, but you sing anyway,
as I only grumble at the time...
———————————————————
You hug me from behind,
And I kiss your cheek.
You’ll say “Morning Sunshine”
And I’ll sleepily reply,
“Morning Sweetheart”.

I imagine evenings where you are ranting,
Pacing our living space.
I’ll sit and listen, a cup of wine in my hand.
In the end, I’ll offer comfort and love,
Laying your head down on my lap,
I’ll hum,
I’ll play with your hair,
I’ll give you my thoughts,
And if you fall asleep,
I’ll lay there all night,
so as not to wake you.

I imagine you getting overwhelmed,
By all my emotions and irrationality,
But somehow still finding it endearing.
I imagine bumps and cracks,
But in the end, it’ll all be worth it....

I imagine us.
And I’m too afraid to say it.
I.    L O V E.    Y O U.

Because it's that easy, it's that easy to let go of the reality you have conformed to.

Let go and let God.
What does that even mean?

So I drop the label.
I drop the band.

*

They call us idols.
Do you know how hard it is to forget what you have worshipped?
Why do you think it was hard for me to not worship Him in those few times I could?
Because he is embedded in me.

Those sounds that we have sung, dances we have preformed, I have become alert of those people who worshipped us because in doing that they worshipped him.
The one we sung to, the one we served.
The lullabies he loved, the sensuality they adored.

We became figments of their imaginations, roleplays that they could call on to make them sleep, we have become a game that they mentally switched on and off when they wanted to.
Their desire is to switch me on when they want to zone out and switch me off when they need to come back to reality.

For my body to be abused in their minds.

But I am worth more than that.

I too am a man.
I too am a son.
A brother.... A friend.

I am not a prized trophy.
A statue of sensuality for all to see.

...

I too am a child of God.