i keep boys
like trophies
line them
up on the shelf
along with the t-shirts
they left in my room,
the gum that’s still
stuck
on my wall,
(he tried to teach me
how to blow
bubbles),
and all the pieces
they broke in me
while making me
whole.
my mom thinks
i should settle down
my friends love
the drama
and i want to want
normal, stable, blah
but cannot help
my wild heart
that needs to know
the new and the dangerous
to feel alive.
i was born
to love
too much
to know
too many
to wear t-shirts
that do not belong
to me
and maybe one day
i will find
what i do not know
i am looking for.
(me).
About the Creator
Sara
Don’t look for love.
Be love.
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His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
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Comments (2)
I love the use of the t shirts in this.
Good luck on your journey!