gentleboy you have me out
to bring some sense into mistakes,
to cast some light into this darkness.
for all you had to give me,
you could not rid me of this impulse,
this need to venture underground;
for all I’ve tried, I cannot seem to tear you from
my veins, my hopeless vanity,
my addictive personality.
to this hour,
I do not know how best to go about
the vices you’ve created,
the childhood I demolished to clear room
for better structures –
sounder lies about how I
was just an ordinary child
on the lookout for some warmth,
some quieter way to fall asleep
to dreams of being loved.
once you said I was a genius
I just had to prove you wrong;
it’s not enough that I
should know this loneliness,
that I should carry your weight home
over lies and poor devices
to keep your prying hands at large.
I keep finding you inside closed spaces,
private hells and stairwells,
the twisted shapes of my intelligence.
smarts that I must give a name to
in the hopes you’ll understand
that this is more than I can handle.
K’s not E, and it’s History that moves me.
I will travel out of curiosity
by destroying what’s destroying me,
by declaring that there’s more to being happy
than shifting gears on a racing heart.
your point of balance is simply too erratic.
there are places you can get to
just by sitting on your legs,
just by knowing when to stop.
I try, but no longer own the size
it takes to breathe you in,
to keep you close enough to function.
a new organ begins to falter,
another something starts to leak.
rushing to the switch is pointless;
we’ll both be blind by the time I find the courage
to shed a different lighting on these cuts,
to have the guts to tell you just how much it’s hurting.
because at the centre of all things is
and we laugh not because we know it’s a lie,
but because we’re getting by
on the smallest part of what we’re given.