tallonrk1
01-21-2016, 04:23 PM
She pulls him away to his room
and I wish they would just
**** already
so that I could let the pain hit me
all at once
and then be
open again.
There’s something cathartic about heartbreak:
You are made to feel so alone—
and then you realize
that the only person you can love
in safety
is yourself.
And you watch the Earth
become covered in snow,
like a beautiful
high school girl
slowly/carefully
putting on a pure white dress
as she gets ready for the Prom
that I never went to
because gay boys never show
themselves in high school
and only show themselves
in bed
for the rest of their lives.
This opening and closing
of the self.
Like opening myself to others
and closing myself
to myself
Like the time it took me
half an hour to build up the courage
to knock on his door to see if he was home— (he wasn’t)—
And I wonder why no one ever says
“Father Earth,”
as if boys can’t be loving
and nurturing too,
and I want to believe that a dress
can be a tuxedo
and when I see him
in a tuxedo,
I want to take his hand
and meet his smile
and struggle through the snow together
to get to some fancy restaurant
with a faux French name.
And there’s something romantic
about knowing someone can’t love you back.
Because then you can love
completely selflessly,
not expecting anything in return,
and to some extent,
you can pretend that you don’t exist.
And when I walk through
the Pittsburgh sidewalks,
snow sprinkled on my nose and eyelids,
and I’m listening to
“Can’t Help Falling In Love With You,”
I wonder when that song
will mean something
to my self.
and I wish they would just
**** already
so that I could let the pain hit me
all at once
and then be
open again.
There’s something cathartic about heartbreak:
You are made to feel so alone—
and then you realize
that the only person you can love
in safety
is yourself.
And you watch the Earth
become covered in snow,
like a beautiful
high school girl
slowly/carefully
putting on a pure white dress
as she gets ready for the Prom
that I never went to
because gay boys never show
themselves in high school
and only show themselves
in bed
for the rest of their lives.
This opening and closing
of the self.
Like opening myself to others
and closing myself
to myself
Like the time it took me
half an hour to build up the courage
to knock on his door to see if he was home— (he wasn’t)—
And I wonder why no one ever says
“Father Earth,”
as if boys can’t be loving
and nurturing too,
and I want to believe that a dress
can be a tuxedo
and when I see him
in a tuxedo,
I want to take his hand
and meet his smile
and struggle through the snow together
to get to some fancy restaurant
with a faux French name.
And there’s something romantic
about knowing someone can’t love you back.
Because then you can love
completely selflessly,
not expecting anything in return,
and to some extent,
you can pretend that you don’t exist.
And when I walk through
the Pittsburgh sidewalks,
snow sprinkled on my nose and eyelids,
and I’m listening to
“Can’t Help Falling In Love With You,”
I wonder when that song
will mean something
to my self.