If the truth was a landmine underneath your house

would you offer your living room as a burnt offering? 

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If I’m honest with you,

you won’t love me anymore.

 

You’d probably call me crazy if I told you how many nights I sat awake

cursing the world

that we can’t be together.

 

Living each day as a mausoleum.

Tucking away love that is

not allowed.

Poetry feels like dumping caskets onto my bedroom floor.

 

My siblings told me they knew I was gay before I ever came out.

Yet, I had no one in gym class. In the hallways. On the bus. In church pews. At sporting events.

Barber shops. House parties. Poetry slams.

 

We learn from experience. 

 

I’ve lived 29 years tweezing trouble from beneath my skin.

Don’t smile that way! It looks sus. Don’t ask that! It’s too problematic! 

Don’t make things weird. Don’t make things weird!

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Learned to tie cement blocks to my emotions and drop them into the rivers I’ve cried

before anyone begins to smell the decay.

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There was a boy in middle school I thought I loved.

He called us best friends on Monday. And me a faggot on Friday. 

There was a boy in high school I thought I loved.

He would send me scriptures so that God could help me let go of my gay.

There was a boy in college I thought I loved.

Laid on my lap during the day and in her bed at night.

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There is a church I can’t bring myself to go back to.

There are friends I can’t talk to anymore.

There are text messages I can’t bring myself to delete.

There are core memories that still cut me to the core.

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Life will make you regret every time you choose vulnerability and not violence.

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We learn from experience.

 

People always blame Peter for denying Jesus

but if you saw how God couldn’t protect His son

from the wickedness of man

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would your faith not think twice?   

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I hold for gun fire every time I say “I love you.”

Sprint across war zones just to ask for your time.

I’d stuff my pockets with C4 for a chance to be in your arms.

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But can’t expect you to take the same risk.

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Calling you beautiful might cut a crater into the earth’s surface.

So, I fall on my sword and say nothing,                              

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What use mourning a love that never had a life to lose?

What good would speaking my devastation do?

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It would just make you feel you can’t be around me.

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And as you move on,

I’ll shop caskets for Cupid’s arrows.

Purchase enough flower arrangements to be happy for you.  

 

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If honesty be a grenade taped to your back

would you thank me for my service and all the explosions I’ve swallowed?

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