Goodbye
09 Apr 2012 Leave a Comment
in on living, on me Tags: dating, relationships
I stand in front of the fogged bath mirror,
thoughts of you clinging
to me as the water on my skin.
Warmth flushes my cheeks.
I look embarrassed.
I have yet to give you your leave,
to tell you you’re free.
I reach for my tooth-brush,
then, the paste.
A cup of water.
Q-tips.
Contacts case.
And the thought of you drifts
off like a child losing his balloon.
Waiting
09 Apr 2012 Leave a Comment
in on living, on me Tags: dating, relationships
It’s been seven months since
we first kissed.
You didn’t want me then.
It is March now.
The land is beginning to thaw.
It has been waiting
to come back to life.
Tonight you texted me.
It’s been a week since
we last kissed.
I wonder if you love me,
if I’m waiting to live.
Henry
08 Feb 2012 1 Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: blue eyes, henry, story fiction
It is the 18th of August, 2011. The RAs of Ignatius University just finished training and the freshmen move in tomorrow. Today is a Thursday. I’m visiting with Elisa, and 10 o’clock has changed to midnight, and midnight has become one in the morning. We are giggly and tired and catching up on a summer spent apart. She and I are happy, happy for the first time in a very long time. Elisa and I jump subjects quickly. I tell her about humidity induced slick skin and she tells me about a summer full of taking things in. I tell her of sharing my poetry and relearning how to feel. She tells me of feeling too much and finally telling her mother no.
“So, Anthony and I, he’s super cute by the way, we were just up sitting in our room talking.”
“Yeah, I know. He told me his favorite part of training was chatting with you.”
“Wait, he said that? Really? Anyway, we are just sitting in the room before bed and he looks at me, and I kid you not, says, ‘Gabe, are you a homosexual?’”
“No!”
“Yes! I couldn’t help myself. I laughed in his face.”
“Well, what did you say back?”
“I mean, I don’t know. I told him the truth, I guess. I mean, I don’t consider myself gay, but I like guys. So, maybe I’m gay. Sometimes I like girls too, so maybe I’m bi. I think labels are dumb.”
“How did he handle it?”
“He was totally fine. He’s an interesting character. A lot of the new RAs are interesting this year.”
“Do you think the RAs last year talked about us like this?”
“Probably,” Elisa chuckled. “God, they are fascinating though. Like Henry, I can’t believe he wore a bow-tie tonight.”
“I know. He pulled it off though, I think.”
“You think?”
“I mean, he already looks like he is thirty.”
“Gabe!”
“What?! It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Elisa smiled in response.
Trying to write a story. Fiction is not my forte.
i just can’t get you out of my head
29 Jan 2012 3 Comments
in on me Tags: blue eyes, love
he tells me not to write about him
blonde. blue eyes. single (available?).
he tells me not to write about him,
and i don’t know why.
we are lying in my bed,
and i am crying
about the great nothing or something.
he asks me why.
i tell him i do not know,
that i am irrevocably broken,
and i am sorry.
i tell him i love him.
he searches for the right words.
“i love you.
i love you.
i love you,”
he says.
and i am crying
because i am sad,
and i have never been so happy.
i have never been so happy
Say What You Mean
26 Nov 2011 Leave a Comment
in on living
“I don’t like poetry,” he says to me
blonde hair receding despite young age.
His salmon color Ralph Lauren t-shirt
matches the blush of his cheeks
as we drink on a weekday night.
The skin on his hands is calloused,
coarse from working on his ranch.
It’s rough against the skin of my cheek.
His lips are smooth.
They taste of peppermint.
The lights are low and the moon high.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers to me.
“I knew you’d be angry.”
I see him now in the bright Nebraska light,
broken hands in her manicured paws.
His shirt is salmon;
his hair is receding faster than age.
His head on my chest,
I lie to him.
“It’s okay.”
His hands are rough.
His lips taste like peppermint.
You Didn’t Tell Me That You Loved Me
20 Sep 2011 1 Comment
in reflection
You didn’t tell me that this means something.
You never said it was anything.
“We’re not having sex.”
This is what you tell me as we undress.
Moments after our lips touch
and my clothes and your clothes are strewn about the floor,
you don’t tell me that you love me.
We eat in crowded places together
and when my leg brushes yours, you jump –
like somehow the mere act of touching will find us out,
like somehow my association with you means we’re having sex.
You didn’t tell me that you loved me.
After weeks of spending the night
and hours staring into eyes,
you didn’t tell me that you cared.
You didn’t tell me we mattered.
You didn’t tell me you loved me.
You didn’t lie.
You never pretended.
You never cried.
We had no pretense, you and I.
There was no romance.
There was no crime.
So, tell me, please,
when you never told me that you loved me,
why did I cry?
Why do I still cry?
Elisa.
14 Sep 2011 Leave a Comment
Elisa looked beautiful, free, standing on the bench. The breeze tangled her red-brown curls and the sun burst into a smile on her face. The open plain was almost a challenge for her grace.
“When I was younger, I used to think that if I stood on a chair and thought hard enough I would fly away,” she told me.
I smiled, watching her from her blanket in the long grass. It was warm out, and she had on a white polka-dotted pink dress. I had on a yellow and white button down. We were on a picnic.
The bench was part of a table, one of those stereotypical wooden ones. It looked odd there, in the field, with nothing but grass for miles in any direction.
“Elisa, how did you find this place?”
“Oh, well, I used to come here sometimes as a kid. When I got older I stopped thinking I could fly, but I still liked the idea of it, and I love the wind in my face. So, I would come here, on summer days like this, and fly my kite and think about what it’s like to be up so high.”
She turned to face me then, and I caught my breath in the silhouette of her head. I waved her over, and held her hand.
“I could show you, you know… how to fly.”
“You can?”
So, I took her by her hand and I ran with her into the field.
“Jack, what are you doing?!”
We stopped.
“Shh,” I said. “Now, close your eyes and on the count of three, jump.”
“Ready? One. Two. Three. Jump!”
She jumped as high as she could into the air, and I lifted her above my head like a ballerina, and I spun her around and around until we both fell to the ground.
“There, you were flying.”
“No,” she said.
She leaned in and placed her hand on my check. And then, with one small motion she kissed me softly on the lips.
“Now, I’m flying.”
“Me too, Elisa. Me too.”
untitled 7-27-11
26 Jul 2011 1 Comment
lover, i am sitting on this bed, staring at this screen, and i cannot help but to think of you. there will come a day soon when we will be together and we will be able to lay in beds together our hands will entwine until we lose sense of which finger is which and whose hand belongs to whom we will lay next to each other with the bare skin of our legs just touching-- enough so that we know we know, lover that each moment like this is right lover, i want you to know that i am not whole. i am broken my soul has known pain and it is not because of you and it may not heal because of you but, lover, you make it easier when it rains and the world feels gray and i'm staring at the soft glow of my computer screen, you remind me how to smile when the nights are lonely and i feel like no one knows me i remember that you know and that feels okay. that feels right now, lover, i know this will be hard. not every person will like us together but, lover, i know this is right we will speak often of what is divine we will discuss nuances of the meaning of holy and we will debate the syntax of symbolism but i want you to know that laying next to you is holy for me that the language you whisper to me is my Love i want you to know that finding me in you is god so, lover, if you are reading this now i want you to know that i will meet you soon and we can lay in beds together staring at the screen if that is what you want or we can lay in beds together staring at each other and that would be alright too but, lover, if you aren't reading this and you feel lonely i want you to know that i am in the warm glow and i am with you
Submit
13 Jul 2011 2 Comments
My knees are knocking.
I let my body tremble
because I know these fears are real.
This situation calls for tremors.
Tremors like the ones that must be
going through the world as you tear
asunder my security.
I can’t.
I cannot explain these things to you
because I cannot explain them to me.
How can you see?
How could you know me?
I look to you and I say,
I’m bi.
I’m gay.
I’m trans.
I’m fake.
I’m fat.
I’m ugly.
I’m skinny.
I was raped.
I look to you and I say this is my fate.
Then I run and I hide
and I cower and I shake
and I breathe. No, I forget
to breathe. No, I breathe.
I breathe.
I’ve forgotten how to write.
13 Jul 2011 1 Comment
My hands are slick as I walk outside.
Heat emanates from everything
like waves of the ocean down the road.
This life is fake –
the clouds
the place
the people
everything here is fake.
I try to be real,
but reality is only relevant
to those around you,
and we have ALL forgotten
how to breathe.
In. The first step I take
in this hellish air is hard –
like plunging into water, this baptism
requires adjustment.
Out. Proceeding steps gain in ease
but pain is something we cannot release.
In. My stomach churns and my hamstring twitches
but I must keep walking.
Out. My heart is beating as my feet
continue pounding,
and I am gasping for air.
In. When I collapse I look to the sky
to find the pin pricks twinkle there.
Out. And you help me up
to try again, for you were here
all along, my friend.
