Poems written on the last night of summer.
It's always you
When I arise in the winter mornings or summer afternoons I think of you.
I think of how much fun we had in days past, I wonder when I'll see you next.
You are not on my mind, you are a part of my mind, a part of my fundamental understanding of the world.
You are a song playing in the background in every passing moment.
On days full of bright noise, laughing and music, I can ignore the sounds of your voice singing softly.
But I can always hear it.
The days we seem closest are the days of unsettling quiet noise, your voice lingers and pulls me in.
I can't imagine a life without you, you are closer to me than anyone else has ever been.
I enjoy our time in such a genuine way that I never have before, and that I never will without you.
Pretty boy
In my past I thought my manhood wasn't what it should have been,
I was not a baritone by any stretch of the truth, I am a sensitive individual, and I love to write poems about every moment in my life.
I would one day grow to find my voice and understand that the man I am is not defined by anyone else but me.
I will wear pink sweaters and admire myself for the man I am.
Loose ends
Isn't it funny these moments you know the loose ends won't be this way forever but you don't know how long you'll be waiting?
I felt this way all summer,
Rotting in my bedroom, wondering when it will get better,
And for a while it didn't, but those days are behind me.
I feel myself being lifted back to the clouds,
Back to passion and happiness,
Back to what I've always wanted.
And it was all worth it
This summer has been a unique set of circumstances that I never saw myself looking at.
I had not a thought in my mind about speaking up about the abuse, I simply thought the sun would not rise if I did.
When I finally made that phone call the very ground beneath my feet was split into pieces.
They shook the story I had always known.
Until august my hands remained cold from the winter snow.
But the sun came and I watched as the snowmen I had built so unhappily melted into the dirt.
Although speaking of such awful moments caused me pain, the winter has ended.
On being human
How lucky we are to have found ourselves under these circumstances.
What a privilege I have been given to feel a warm blanket on my skin.
How I adore seeing faces light up and doors open to look at the sky.
Isn't it beautiful how we are so intertwined that I listen to the singing voice of another in every moment?
The world is unpredictable, and that's half the joy in it, what will come of today and what will I make of that?
I am blessed with a mind, a voice and a body to execute any of my desires.
Sorrows and struggle exist in this plane, but they do not exist louder than the beautiful mystery.
YOU ARE READING
Letters from sixteen
PoetryA poetry book I wrote during periods of my life with many different facets. I wrote about happy moments, addiction, and trauma, the book becomes more depressing as it goes on. I choose the title "letters from sixteen" to capture how I wanted to capt...
