remembrance

my love, he enjoys the springtime.
the butterflies / they follow him
like dogs on a leash, cover him

they make him a crown from their
beating wings, like hearts upon
his head. he begs for deliverance.

only the butterflies hear his
whispering words to gods / he
hopes will hear / but he forgets

yet again / that he is a god himself
made of everything / they have ever
known. he is substance and lack of it.

i envy him with his hands of grace
his tongue / of lace instead of knives.
he asks for liberation but he liberates

my soul into worlds / unknown
filled with golden feathers and halos.
my blood runs thick / his runs thicker

with soft hair that / turns golden in
the sun, he shines as bright
as anything / i’ve ever known

brighter than the halos of the angels
filled with colors that could best
the boldest / painters, he is a painting

in motion / this i know
he is art come alive and dancing
through the clouds and heavens

to reside in the sun, where holiness
runs free like children in the street
and i hope he is never forgotten

like how he has forgotten all
that he was and should be, like
he has forgotten / someone like me.

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prometheus journal

what are we without our dreams?
our imagination, inspiration, aspirations.
what happens to a dream forgotten?
when our thoughts are like dough,
and dreams are no more.

what drives the stars to shine?
what drives the gods to thrive?
what drives a human to be kind?
what would be of us if Prometheus
didn’t sacrifice his freedom for our knowledge?

dreams in us strive, thrive, make us kind.
we are humankind with the stars on our side.
we shine with the hearts of dreamers,
and with fire in our hands,
and the dreams in our heads,
we will make our own constellation.

nightmares

i think i see you in my nightmares. my therapist says i am insane. i say it is the heartache.

for once i wish to forget what it feels like to be forgotten, even if it means forgetting you. i wish i hated you while you loved me, so then i will know how it feels to be forgotten by me like i have been forgotten by you.

i scatter myself into piece like broken mirrors at my feet because it is better to be broken than to let them see me bleed. i tape myself back together and hope that they will never know what i have done.

i want to rip out my fucking hair because you are the reason i can’t breathe but you are also my air.

i hope you drown, sink to the ocean floor and let the fish swim among your bones.

it doesn’t matter if you stay or go. i promise this, i will still see you in my nightmares.

baseball bats and shoulder pads

There weren’t Legos as much as
baseball bats and shoulder pads.
We would hit plastic balls
in home runs and we would
tumble down hills with our
baseball bats and shoulder pads.

My brother threw for me
as our father threw for him,
but all I know is Father’s anger,
and he does not throw for me.

Brother showed me how to strap on my armor, and sometimes the bats would turn into swords. Then Father’s anger couldn’t hurt me anymore. Our skin was made of steel and our swords were made of diamond. If our father was the dragon, then we were the knights to the rescue. Clad with our baseball bats and shoulder pads.

But metal can rust. I saw my brother rusting, and then I became dust. What was left of us? Baseball bats became wood again. Shoulder pads weren’t armor anymore. What we once wielded was now our greatest fear. What we once used to fight was now used to shield us from the flames. We were surrendering.

Then, ‘we’ wasn’t ‘we’ anymore. It was my brother, and then I. As if I were an afterthought. The baseball bats rotted away. The plastic of the shoulder pads melted on me. I was burned in the end, but not by the dragon.

My meadows turned to ash, the flowers wilted. And there I stood in the wreckage. All that was left was a baseball bat, and some shoulder pads.

The dragon had failed to burn those. He rusted my brother, burned my flowers, and turned me to dust. But he left my armor, and my weapon. And though the dragon won before, and I shake when I hear him roar, my bones are made of steel. My heart burns inside my chest, while my frozen skin crackles. This is my battle cry. Because maybe I can’t fight fire with fire, but I can fight it with ice.

So I grabbed the baseball bat and put on the shoulder pads. Now it’s time to face my own dragon.

humanity before angelity

they see him running on sunbeams in the early morning. stars are tied to his toes and they rattle behind him like chains, but he has never felt so liberated. there was a time when atoms were exploding in his lungs and he could not breathe, colors would fly behind his eyes and he could not see. his skin was numb from too many suns burning beneath the surface. he used to curse the morning; now he holds it in his hands and sprinkles it down upon us.

he still sees himself as human, is that a surprise? though he is stardust and the remains of energy, he is flesh and blood first. he came from the womb, not from the sky. he knew his hands before he knew his wings; he knew his words before he knew his magic. he dances with the snow on winter nights only to melt it away in the day. he drinks golden wine, it’s gods ichor he sips. he twirls his curls around his fingers and whistles tunes only the bluebirds understand. he runs barefoot through forests and though his feet may bleed, he brings the sunlight with him and that’s all he needs. he trips on skies and sips waterfalls, throws his wishes into wells. he can make miracles happen. what being in the world would want to make such magic angry?

a thousand suns have tried before, to hold him in their burning grasp. there is no force known to us that can contain him where they lack.

breathless

I have always known how to breathe, but around you I am breathless.
I have always known how to feel, but with you I can’t place it.
At times I feel safe with you, I want to hold you close and never let go.
Then other times I want to hurt you or myself or anything else to keep from screaming.
The sun and the moon were always set to collide, but I have never felt more at home in your shadow.
You call me magic but you are wrong.
I am no god or angel or otherworldly being, I am human, it is all I have ever known.
Gods and angels would know how to feel or they wouldn’t feel at all.
I may have power running through my veins but against you I am powerless.
Blood may flood my chest, but if you are the cause then I will call it nothing less than ecstasy.
I was always the boy with enough air in my lungs, but with you I am utterly breathless.

Ode to Imagination

Galaxies and wonderment;
Suns brighter than suns;
A collection of constellations
Woven between my fingers.

I cry sunsets and
Hold sunrises on my shoulders;
Like Sisyphus rolls boulders.
This is my eternity.

I see demons in blue light;
Dancing around the firelight.
I see angels with charred wings;
Heads adorned with golden rings.

I have galaxies inside of me;
Worlds they will never know;
With grass that caresses the feet,
And air that smells sweet.

Then there are the withered parts
Of me that I hope they will never see;
With monsters that prowl the dark,
Creations that I pray I will never be.

Stars twinkle above my head.
I look at them and know their dread,
For I am in the space of limbo;
A realm where the winds always blow.

I can feel claws on my skin,
Tearing to rip my head open.
Inside is found stories untold;
Languages only the angels know.

Here I walk among the trees;
Here I walk among fantasies;
Worlds of my own creation.
Here you know my imagination.