A Large Island
Sometimes I wonder if I break
My own heart before others do so
When they do it it’s like
Breaking a shattered plate, or
Snapping a broken twig–
The damage has been done already–
You idiot!
Sometimes I wonder if
I’m being dramatic or if
In fact, people around me
Wish me harm. See–
When they don’t actually wish you harm
You know it
And when they do
You know it
So if you know it’s happening to you
And you sit there and instead say
“It’s not really happening, this is normal–
I like it when their weapons flay me”
It’s like sad, to me
See, I’m not into that and
I won’t ever be. I’m a top, and I’m not
A switch and I’m not
A baby, I’m a very angry full grown man
Who hates being disrespected on the daily
I don’t think that’s hard to comprehend however
When the weapons flay me
Sometimes they slice
Where I’ve already been wounded
And I wonder
“Am I wounded, fresh, or is this
An old one?”
Days, weeks, months of wounds
Accumulating and then you realize
“I have scars all over me”
I cannot see clearly
What is fresh damage and what is old, reopening
Then I realize that I am bleeding,
It is not ambiguous
This is not a poem
I am not a metaphor I am
A person and when
My surroundings hurt me so much
I can’t tell what wounds are fresh or stale
I have to get up and move around and leave
I have to try and heal.
To me, unfortunately
I might have to leave the one thing I thought
Was helping me and yet
The more I reflect
The more I read my breadcrumbs the more
I see the expanse of my brain and the more
In tune with my writing I become I start to feel the power
Of years and years of reflection come to fruition–
I know myself
I am not hurting me, anymore
I don’t do that and I don’t need to
I’ve left friends and lovers
For less than what this job has put me through
I don’t think this job is the right fit,
And if you need any proof
Just read all my poems
I haven’t written about the sun, or the sky
Or the air in my lungs
Since I got this job. Have I been too busy?
Look at all the nasty poems
Look at all the edits I made
Look at all the proof of the misery
Eating me
And yet I am starving, still
Maybe I thought
I found my new home, but
It was just a large island
I thought I knew
Who I was, and what I wanted to be
But my journey is just getting started.