He’s the only one that knows. He 's the only other person I know who felt it too.  We were like magnets that couldn’t break apart, that shouldn’t break apart. I looked at him and he looked at me.  In that moment, we were lost in each other, but we had found each other.  The moon watched.  As much as I knew hell was real, at that moment, I knew heaven was just as real.  We became Chemistry as our electricity lit up the street.  We didn’t know what to make of our electrons.  But Science and Spirit were our witnesses and They said we loved each other. 

I wailed at the sky, your broken lifeless bloody body in my arms. I had never faced grief before, not of this magnitude. You were my one great love, my wriggly, snuggly little spoon, the puppy I fell in love with at six weeks old and raised to adulthood. More often than not, I would feed you directly from my hand because you were my baby. Every night I held you close to me, my little spoon, your round little body nestling in the curve of my belly and hips, occasionally kicking me when I held you a little too close. You kept me alive when I wanted to die and holding you close to me helped the panic attacks subside when I knew no other way to stop them other than drugs, drink, or pain. You were my security blanket in a house that was never a home to either of us. In the midst of the screaming abuse I closed my eyes tightly, buried my face in your soft neck, and whispered that I would make us a home, a safe place, where we could be happy together forever. Its hard for me to put into

7 seconds to paradise, Don't let your wallet think twice You can fly to the moon and back All in one night Buy this, Buy that, To get rid of your fat Everybody's yelling at once They can't let you think Smooth over the holes, Push you over the brink Fill up your life, From the ceiling to the floor Final seconds, you realize You could have been so much more

 

 

 

No pipe brings dreams No matter how hopeless life seems Drugs can't replace love Abuse isn't love  A crow isn't a dove Just look high above  We all want to be rich This is a human glitch  

  The butterflies in my stomach are talented. They write symphonies between smiles And subtle serenades behind stares. They pull the strings of my heart And tie them around my ankles To puppet every step I take toward you. I don’t think I am in control of this, I am already running miles in my head Trying to catch up with my racing thoughts of you. I am stuttering and stammering, Tripping on my own words, My tongue is as clumsy as my feet Because I fell in love On the first two steps walking toward you. I have written love stories That start with hello And end with I love you, But I can never remember my lines Between those points. I want to call myself a hopeless romantic But I can’t stutter out the romance So I guess I’m just hopeless.

  It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far more i