Bucketfuls of gosling rain pour down
on the neighbor lady's plants as
I fiddle with the rawhide bracelet
you gave me for good luck.
It's ironic because if there's
anyone drowning here, it's you,
struggling to breathe in
the notorious deep end.
And yet, my throat tightens
every time I see you holding hands
with the transfer student from Biloxi,
the one with sunny hair
and a cruel wasteland grin.
He knows I'm jealous
so he takes advantage of
the celebrations in
the French Quarter,
pulling you closer in
his noose and water embrace.
It's strange how you're so
I don't really know where to start but there's something that I've never understood and I just want some form of clarification, I guess, though it might still be impossible for me to understand because I just feel so different from everybody else. But.. When I was between 10 and 13 I was molested by an adult I lived with at the time and some other stuff happened to me when I was 17 and 18 that were equally traumatic. I'm not "normal", by any means, especially when it comes to intimacy and relationships because I don't trust just anyone with my body.
*title belongs to John Green.*
You were a questionable night and strong arms;
coffee ground eyes and marijuana-coated lips
turned up in a cute twenty-four hour smirk.
You and I were shoe boxes filled with
boy-meets-boy hormones wrapped
tight in the construction paper summer before college.
Neither of us knew what was really
going on when we kissed passionately on your couch
the afternoon of Thanksgiving.
And before I could explain my feelings,
you fell asleep with your head on my chest,
so I just ran my fingers through your
goldenrod blond hair and thought about
The antique gold leaves swirl eerily
in the courtyard and I find you sitting
alone on a stone bench near where
the children like to play cup and ball.
But they can't see you, Larkin.
I'm the only one aware of your presence.
Decades of being sneered at
have made you cold to most humans.
So it was shocking when you decided
to open a window and let me catch
a glimpse of the frightened boy inside.
You are a walking tragedy in dapper clothing;
all the misunderstood pieces
of Prince Charming's dark past coming to life
in the flickering gaze of your shamrock eyes.
*Dedicated to MaddieJoy because she watches Once Upon a Time like me :) The mad hatter story line is my favorite so I hope you like this.*
He looks for her inside empty magic hats.
All alone in his dull swan lake mansion,
he needs just one more drop of
purity to unchain the past.
Unfortunately, he's stuck in wonderland.
Queen Anne's Lace and
mushroom heads once
peeped out from the enchanted earth
as the mad hatter and his ginger girl
played tag in the desiccated woods.
They walked to the fair
where he bought her a snowy rabbit,
even though money was scarce then.
When I first signed onto this site, I told myself I would refrain from writing anything personal because it just isn't my style but I have to admit now that I'm really lonely and in need of some support. Also, I'm running out of things to keep me numb. Before when my depression would get extremely bad, I would focus on the present or distract myself with a hobby, mostly I would daydream about the future and what I hoped to accomplish but now I feel like that was just false hope because here I am, years later; still miserable and a failure.
Some people like to set sail
for topaz shores and linger
on palm-laden boulevards,
but this boy prefers the intimidating
skyscrapers of a foil wrap silver metropolis.
He thirsts for prism raindrops,
longing to hear the blaring
noise of Navajo taxis speeding past.
Indeed, late into a shiny billboard dream,
he swears he can taste sugary crumbs
from Breakfast at Tiffany's on his tongue.
It might sound silly but the kid is actually
a lost ghost from black and white films.
He wakes up in an unremarkable place
where most folks his age
don't understand why he
Your hands ghost over my arms and land on the springy mattress.
I'm only pretending to sleep so the movement doesn't shock me.
The creamy shadows of trucks on the country highway slip in
through the blinds and flash over our titled forms on my bed.
"You're a terrible actor," you whisper in my ear.
"But that's what I love about you; how everything is so real."
And then your stinging June lips scale down
the side of my neck and I grin, unfazed by
the teasing notes in your gravel and snowflake voice,
reaching my hands up to pull you further
You guys have to check out Richard Siken's poetry! It's seriously one of the most brilliant and beautiful things I've ever read and it's helping me write the boy/boy poems I've posted here as of late :P My favorite poem of his is called "Little Beast" but they're all so seductive and gorgeous and haunting. Here's a link to his webpage but I went as far as buying his book "Crush" on Amazon because I'm that much in love with his writing :D So I hope you enjoy it also..
*about a girl this time :)*
You were singing karaoke against
the mechanical stars that peeked
out of the see-through sky above
And I stood in a crowd of friends,
but nonetheless impressed
by your voice that sounded
like a bluebird on
a rainy Monday morning.
Girl, the brown daisy dress
you wore with sparrow leggings
did something to my sanity
because I went up to you
after the show and helped you
down from the stage
as people clapped,
clinking glasses of
You smiled shyly,
making me feel very seventeen,
*warning: this is darker than my previous ones.*
- They told me you were a tease
with sunset streaks in your
But your beautiful and damaged
grin took my breath away.
Whiskey cherries and overgrown
lawns created the perfect
mood for dancing and we
were seduced by the sexy
consequences of carefree
weekends and no supervision.
I hooked my fingers in the collar of your
preppy polo shirt as we stumbled into
the best drunken kiss that
made me feel invincible.
"Your lashes are amazingly long,"
you slurred against my neck.
The late November night smokes a pack of
Hershey cigarettes and it's as if nobody
understands how those toxic jokes
make me feel trapped in
this claustrophobic place.
So I have no choice but to
go home and pick up my boxing gloves,
preparing myself for another round of bullying.
You may call me proud but don't exaggerate.
I've been pushed around and
shoved into dumpsters long enough
to know that discrete strength is
the key to survival.
It's about teachers turning a blind eye
and death threats in the cafeteria.
Baby, it's about roller coaster feelings
I pull up in his dad's driveway and
the boy sitting on the stoop looks
like Saint Exupery's treasured little prince
with subtle stars smeared on his face and neck.
When he climbs inside my used Sentra,
I tell him about this quirky realization.
"You're both so cute and opinionated."
He grins and replies that it's his favorite book
to read when life is particularly rough.
Cappuccino sips and playful shoves
convert the evening into something
brilliantly unstable and devastatingly 'teenager'.
I want to kiss him violently so we can stop this
annoying game of cat and mouse.