Weighed Down By What-Ifs Poem (photo: Kelly Sikkema)
you’re one of the few people
i’m glad i never confessed my love to,
not for fear that it was unrequited,
but because i’m not sure we could’ve
had a happy life together.
it was ultimately our ideals
that made us go our separate ways.
we wanted the same things
but on different terms.
i hope i never run into you again,
even though i secretly want to.
looking into your big brown eyes
takes me back to a time when
my love was pure but my heart was torn.
my spirit’s desire for freedom
brought me to where i am today,
a challenging but beautiful place
filled with solitude and gratitude
but sometimes weighed down by what-ifs.
i don’t wish to kiss your lips anymore,
nor take you away from the ones you love.
i think we may have already been together
in an alternate universe, where our love
knew no bounds and your kisses were all mine.
and that’s the only love we will ever share
because i plan to keep this selfish love quiet,
expressing it just this once,
to please my soul and lighten the load
my heart has to carry through this life,
even if only to prove to myself
that i’m no longer in denial
about how much i used to love you.
leaning against the wall
in a dark corner of the bar
your black cowboy hat
conceals all but your full lips
stealing sips of your beer
when you think nobody’s looking.
i can’t turn away from you long enough
to see anyone else
through the cigarette smoke
i wonder what your lips would feel like
pressed against mine
while we tear each other’s clothes off
in the bed of your pickup truck outside
letting our bodies bathe freely
in the cool moonlight.
you approach the bartender
signal him for another beer
and your distance
gives me the feeling
that you don’t even know I’m here.
my eyes wander south
to your tight denim jeans
your big muscular thighs
down to your worn leather boots
planted firmly on the dirty floor
of this dark local dive.
i want to rub my face
all over your hairy body
and find out what your armpits smell like
before you squeeze me so tightly
with your massive outstretched arms
that i can’t feel where my body ends
and yours begins.
i want to lay you down
with your hat on my head
while you look up at the sky
with your hands on my hips
moving to the rhythm of the night.
but before long
you’re back in your corner of the bar
and i’ve convinced myself
that this will never be.
you’re nothing more than a fantasy
i’ll take with me
out of this bar and into my bed
where we can be together
in my dreams of riding a cowboy
in the wild wild west.
a collection of poetry,
art and design
have made possible
for an artist
is currently being
cultivated and curated
outside the realm of
editors and galleries.
the product of
years of observations
amidst the grit
during what some call
of the magic city,
the new miamian
is an exploration
of what it means
to be from miami.
images and patterns
born from a desire
and express truth
will find a home here.
love, beauty, family,
culture and ritual,
anger, money, death,
society and greed,
we don’t need
a new miami,
a new miamian.