River

There was a time I once called myself a man.
I thought I had it all together,
when you came around with your glass half full,
breathing your truths
though I only had my doubts to exhale.
Would you call me a friend?
If I came to you with my Pandora’s treasure box
would you still smile with me for a moment?
I know I might have bruised your hope
but I will black and blue my falter
so you can mend whatever is left in your heart for me.

Once, I called myself your lover
during nights that ended with us in knots,
when you’d look into my eyes to try and see the moon
hoping for some bright beam to sleep under.
But there were only light-years behind the lens.
There were only distances that stretched too far for your arms to reach.
You could have been a hitchhiker
thumbing your way down the Nile to try
and find your way to something fertile inside my chest.

You called me a river.
I gave you an ocean preparing for a storm.
You could be the breeze but I
had to be your hurricane.
I couldn’t believe in the kite you were holding.
What was wrong with me?
What was wrong with me
that I couldn’t listen to your kite-strings
flying me safely in the sky?

Can you call me your friend?
Can I be your home?
Can I be a landing strip, a bullseye,
the loose step on a staircase
that trips you head over feet?
I know my heart is a little to the left
but I’ve always wanted to make it right.
These words are my promise to your safety net
that my lips won’t utter your name again
without speaking through sunshine.
Let all my poems be your bodyguard.
Let my trust guide you when you can’t see ahead.
Let me map you to the edge of where my darkness lies
so that we can dance towards a brighter ending.
Let us be our ending.
I promise I won’t let you down.

About Ry

It's so magical, it's gay.
This entry was posted in The Tricks and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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