Category Archives: Poetry

During This Aquamarine Twilight Poem (photo: Todd Desantis)

During This Aquamarine Twilight

that i went to sleep smiling
the night that we met.

that my feelings
and my fears
made me push you away.

that i hate to see you
with somebody else.

that i love my freedom
more than myself
though i’m not sure to what end.

what if that very freedom
is what led me to you?

what if the winds of the angry atlantic
helped my sails find your tranquil harbor
on the night that we met
not because i was lost
but because i had finally been found?

what if you’re what i’ve been looking for
but have been too stubborn to see?

is there any possibility
of a you and me
if i drop my anchor in your bay
during this aquamarine twilight?

could there be a we
to acquire, desire or aspire to be?

Inside the Prison of Your Perception

abusing and bullying the figure
i see in the reflection before me
has caused my true spirit to retreat from
the image i share with society.

by changing who i am to please people
i’ve lost any sense of what life could be
quietly carrying out my sentence
inside the prison of your perception.

guarded from the honest misconceptions
and ugly projections of others with
misplaced emotions, i had accepted
my confinement into one dimension.

dealing with this prison mentality
has taken its toll on me, but now i
want to feel the morning sun on my face
as i look for clarity by the sea.

defeating chronic negativity
in my search for joy and good company,
i will persevere through new challenges
and paint you a more accurate picture.

because i’m ready to open my heart
and reveal to the world the true version
of me refusing to be anything
but me – a person you have yet to meet.

Teens Hurt, Express Rage

on a weeknight at a bookstore
in the city of miami,
spring semester, freshman year
of commuter college
as it came to be.

teens hurt, express rage
inflicting our planet’s pain
on those their own age.

from an anthropology project
i knew one of the girls who called
me disgusting for being
me, something that i wasn’t
yet used to hearing.

the one with the magenta hair led
the assault. femininity
homosexuality
and their disgust with me
they could not let be.

teens hurt, express rage
inflicting our planet’s pain
on those their own age.

black bean soup covered the windshield of
my jeep, another target for
their hate. Humiliated,
i sped off in tears while
they laughed and they jeered.

hosing down my dirty windshield in
the driveway of my parents house
i’d never felt so ashamed
of myself for being
gay before that day.

Legions of Little Lights

every morning
earth wakes up to your
motherly embrace.
the warmth we need to live,
what would life be
without your sustaining light?
massive, blinding, omnipotent.
so powerfully
and beautifully present,
all in a day’s work.

then it’s their turn.
their strength in numbers.
billions of years
worth of traveling
just for me tonight.
a sea of sparkles,
legions of little lights
to accessorize
and illuminate
the obscurity
of the night.

Locked Up With All Your Memories of Us

Locked Up With All Your Memories of Us (photo: Everton Vila)

Locked Up With All Your Memories of Us (photo: Everton Vila)

i understand you’re upset with me
for leaving nothing but this note
and my engagement ring
on our nightstand this morning,
but i don’t have to justify anything.

your need to play the victim
kept you from telling me the truth,
a manipulation of my perception
i am no longer willing to overlook.

i refuse to let your shortcomings
get in the way of my happiness.
and you wouldn’t either
if you really loved me.

maybe my subconscious desire
to break free
from the restrictions
i had placed on me
to make you happy
led me to him.

i kept so much inside
to keep your inflamed ego intact
that there was nothing left of me to fight for
in the love that could have been
something greater than you and me.

but that will never be
because i’ve found someone else
who not only loves me
but sees me and hears me
when i tell him what i need.

and even though you give me no reason to,
i want you to be happy, too.

i hope you’ll understand that one day
when you discover this note again
buried in a box in the back of your closet
locked up with all of your memories of us.

As Would Only Be Just (photo: Ben O'Sullivan)

As Would Only Be Just

the light shone bright
in an almost sinister way
through the windows that day.
i sat stoically at my usual table
in the middle of the crowded cafeteria
strategically seated
for what was about to go down.

as soon as i was sure
that no one was looking,
i quietly pulled out
the rusty box cutter
that i had snatched the night before
and placed it on the back of my seat
as we had discussed.

in no time at all
the blood that seconds prior
was running blue through your veins
was dripping down my back
in a river of crimson.

amidst the screams and the gasps
my instinct was to turn around
and put pressure on your neck
to stop all of the life
from gushing out of you.

i sat calmly in my chair instead,
with my eyes closed and my mouth shut
as we had discussed.

the reactions of those around us
to your premature departure
made all of the hair on my body
stand in pure terror.

then it finally occurred to me
that i may have made a mistake,
that i may have been responsible
for the warm red blood
that soaked my shirt and dripped down
to the grimy linoleum floor
that your body lay lifeless on.

but the decision wasn’t mine.
after all, it was your hand
that thrust the razor’s edge
into your throat
on that sunny afternoon
as we had discussed.

and now you’re gone
from this rotten place
and even though i can’t believe
you’re never coming back,
i’m glad you were able
to escape the way you did,
never wavering
in your affinity for theatricality.

i hope you’re happy now
my dearly departed friend
feeling the cool mountain air on your face
with a carton of cigarettes
and a bottle of single malt whiskey
as would only be just.

The Most Artful of Adults

The Most Artful of Adults (photo: ng)

The Most Artful of Adults (photo: ng)

the conduit for the energy
that transmits the truth
of the human condition.

we need it to break down
the barricades
we erect as babes
to protect our spirits
from persecution
in the name of institutions.

the most artful of adults
live free from the toxicity
misdirected frequencies
and pseudo-connectivity
of society’s simulation
of emotional maturity
and financial security.

For a Love Junkie Like Me

sometimes i wish for love
like a black and white movie
before technicolor
burst onto the scene
with new shades and hues
saturating the screen
with its yellows and blues.

i wish i could see him
for what he really is
for what is actual and rational
not beautiful or colorful
like a black and white movie.

but what would love be
if passion lost to reason?
it would be too easy.
there would be no music,
no beauty, no soul.
just facts without feelings.

nothing to write about
nothing to cry about
nothing to bless
nothing to curse
nothing to slowly die for…

without love
in all of its colors
with all of its tortures
there would be nothing
to die for, no reason to live
for a love junkie like me.