Poem at Twenty-Five

the hands on the clock have struck midnight

there is no magical moment for me to unfold.

the phone besides me, for days, remains untouched

with no one at my side, no hands to claim my own

I welcome the years

once again

alone.

I want to tell you about me.

about the lonely nights these longing limbs have spent curled upon on a sofa bed mattress

dreaming

waiting

planning

meticulously wrapping my adolescent bones in grown up skin

without ever realizing how my body had deceived

had long begun to change and age right before me.

I want to tell you about me.

about the desolate nights these driven knees have spent ardently bent upon

aching to understand

scrapping forgiveness in fist and mouthfuls

from tear soaked splintered floorboards

skinning and pulping the flesh off kneecaps while performing repentance

mouthing words ‘cross lips whose depths a forming mind had yet to make sense with

and yet

praying to be changed

praying to be delivered

praying to wake up dead

praying to a god

that just would not answer me

I want to tell you about me.

about the small, crouching animal these tired bones have spent a lifetime encasing and carrying inside.

nameless

ownerless

fatherless

for years, even I, unaware of its existence.

the steady pulse of a second heartbeat

the pressing of sharp, razor teeth

anchored around my intestines, slowly eroding my hunger for life

I want to tell you about me.

about the incessant search for self this relentless heart has spent an existence embarking on.

moving towards.

a constant search for completion

possessing

no origin

no master

no beginning or end

or actual destination.

only arrival.

satisfied if and only until I am found.

me. and only me. whole and complete.

perhaps then I shall be made useful.

traveling. I am always traveling.

I want to tell you about me.

about the many foreign beds this unclaimed body has spent sprawled within.

incalculable sets of flesh this body has pressed against.

inserted itself in.

attempted

desired

struggled

to collectively make a home with.

the many empty hands these fingers have held and wrapped promises around.

the unnamable monsters that have lived and breathed within the warmth of my mouth.

convinced love would somehow be found

between the crevices of open legs and folds of worn sheets.

yes.

I too have been that of that kind.

sought comfort in the arms of strangers

validation in the eyes of a passerby

hoping, one day, someone too would notice me.

I want to tell you about me.

about the blackest cipher this intersected self has spent a living crawling itself out from.

wondering if and how it would survive.

eyes wide open

seeking danger and lurking in the turning of every corner

a constant looking over my shoulder

knowing a final end awaited me.

there simply exists

no easy place in this world for a queer brown boy.

no safe space for his being to fully form.

for the nurturing of his soul to fully

blossom

thrive

grow

I want to tell you about me.

and if I did,

would you stop for just a moment to listen?

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