PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Time passes in an inevitable whirlwind.

My hands attempt to hold my life in its entirety

while I can-

the sunset from my dorm window

my achingly lovely best friend my

skateboard on berkeley tiles and

sweet sweet smoke.

They will die with every moment, die

like nocturnal flowers

that only

bloom

once.



Finally calm and alone,

I look back on high school.

I recognize trauma and my reactions-

a love who left me for the first time,

shame, self-blame, hurting those I cared

most

for

but

it is strange.     That boy who built me

into this graceful machine is now

nothing

a white rag in my arms

a white rag fluttering wistfully

to the ground and I

don't

care.



There are no more questions about him.

I feel nothing for an alien

his voice

a slow motion tape recording

his lips

pieces of pink paper

his heart

sweet sweet smoke



I was never able to hold him the way

I wanted to

pull his body into my body and

dissolve

so that I could never

be distinguished

from his essence

but no

I/ meant for a different fate/

became my own

I am my own

and he

a white rag

in my arms

means nothing



Head up

thought I had seen the most beautiful

sunsets

in san diego

thought he was the most beautiful

sunset

in san diego

but you never know

and here I am

so much more

than I would have ever meant

to him