makeshift paradise

poetic_star's picture

*so I watched this independent LGBT film called Shelter and I loved it so much, I wrote this poem.*

The brainwashed sun sticks to my eyelids
in the pear drop morning.
Wandering down these
shipwrecked avenues,
I wear a practiced smile.
But your name is something foreign;
a long-forgotten page
from my adolescent journal,
and so used to flying under the radar,
I'm at a loss for words when
you give me a compliment.

Still, you seem comfortable
in your thick skin and it's
seriously intimidating,
seeing how you joke
without straying from the truth,
sipping from cool bottles and
staring unflinchingly
up at a moody sky
laced with purple static.
I wish I could be like that;
not a sorry-ass coward.

June 4th was a night of graffiti,
palm branches spread
out on the patio and
sea glass in little mason jars.
You kissed me carefully like
someone learning to drive,
not quite lacking confidence
but still on the fence
about the consequences;
would I like it?

I didn't move so you kissed me again,
the warm hand you kept on my jaw
falling to my chest and playing
absently with the string of my
battered hoodie.
The taste you left
in my mouth was
a combination of
fear, rain and sandy Almond joy.

I had no idea what was going on
inside my confused mind
or acoustic heart.
Dreams of your electric
city touch were
strong enough
to choke me in my sleep
and I'd startle awake,
disappointed by the drab ghetto
walls in my spray-painted bedroom.

There were lonely days when
I wanted nothing more than
to swim out into the star-crossed
Pacific ocean and never return.
But the worst part was knowing
that this was all
self-inflicted, love.

Parked outside your house,
the way I felt about you was criminal.
But you didn't ask any questions;
just let me push you up
the stairs daringly,
your fingers leaving pale smudges
on my flesh and my hands seeking
revenge down your back,
groping at the muscles you get
leaping from boulders
and making the beach
your personal playground after
the deaths of misguided surfers.

Now, with the Santa Ana winds
tearing up my clothes in the corner
and the searing light of a clammy
surrealist orange dawn illuminating
the spot where we did it too hard,
I finally understand why
apologizing is useless.

Comments

elph's picture

Your poetry...

...is so evocative!

poetic_star's picture

:)

thanks

Bosemaster42's picture

Of course,

Now you've given me a reason to check out that movie! Nice job!

poetic_star's picture

:P

lol please do.