28.

June 29, 2016

This was the first poem I wrote in my 28th year as I began to reflect on life (or lyfe). The poem was written at two different moments. The bold sections were added several weeks after I wrote the initial piece and gained more information on this lyfe event. 

 

28.

 

I fell out of a five story window

and I don’t know how.

 

I’ve written this

this sentence

Over 

And Over

And Over

Again

 

And that sentence

Over

And Over

And Over 

Again

 

Eighteen

I was eighteen

a twink emerging

(if you will)

Cut the blonde highlights off my shaggy mop

a mousy brown.

Hair I wouldn't want to be be buried in. 

 

Late night

in November 

in Chelsea

 

Twenty-eight now

Ten years

I was a child.

 

Sunglasses at night

 

I Shattered 

My leg

My pelvis

My spine

My face

My sitz bones

My coccyx

My right lung

 

Put a filter in my artery.

 

Put a pin in my hip.

Like an elderly person.

 

Put me in a nursing home.

Like an elderly person.

 

My soul is new.

 

Nineteen in a nursing home.

 

Old souls tell old stories.

Papa

Aunt Jen

Oakie

Buzzy

Emma

 

New stories to a newbie.

 

Eighteen screws in my leg

Rough estimate.

Three plates

Now two

Two plates

Twelve screws

 

Rough estimate.

 

Roughed up.

 

Roughed up my mind.

 

Reassembled

with metal bits

 

I get to be vertical.

 

Post Traumatic 

Amnesia

Post Traumatic

Disorder

Post Traumatic

Existence

 

Searching for an outlet

To plug in

To tap out

To get in

To get out

To figure out

A way out

 

To be heard

 

Sorting through 

Ten years later

 

I fell out a five story window

and I don’t know how.

 

I fell 

Out the window

I crawled 

Out the window

I was thrown

Out the window

I accept

I accept I will never know

 

Every

day 

I accept.

 

But.

I got a name.

I got a face.

 

Ten years later

 

and I see his face.

 

LinkedIn

Facebook

Social Media

got me his face.

 

Does he look like a guy

who would throw you at a five story window?

 

He doesn’t look like a guy

who throw someone out a five story window.

 

London.

6 hours ahead

6 hours behind

 

10 years behind.

 

What do I do?

What the fuck

do I do?

 

I fell

 

Out of the closet.

 

The homo

Gay

Cock sucker

Faggot

Closet

 

my closet.

 

My Pipi Longstalking

 

My boy or girl toy at McDonald’s 

 

closet.

 

This is what happens

to gay boys 

who try to find themselves

in Chelsea

The Police say

 

Don’t investigate

The Police say

 

The Mafia 

The Police say

 

Manipulated a family’s grief.

 

and my family accepts

 

This is what happens to gay boys who try to find themselves in Chelsea.

 

And I accept

 

Because I already knew.

 

Because there is no legal case.

There is no legal evidence.

There is no textbook homophobia.

Documented homophobia.

And my parents 

 

My parents.

 

My family choses to accept. 

 

Because I was on

life support. 

 

And my parents were trying to find

life support.

 

My worth is established

at eighteen

And gay

And I understand. 

 

And now-

 

I crave

I yearn

To hollow

 

It pounds within 

My chest

My throat

My groan

My soul

My being

My metal bits

My story

 

We all have a story

And this is mine

 

And I can’t seem to get it out.

 

I fell out of a five story window

And I can’t get out.

 

 

 

 

But.

 

I write this

and I feel better.

I write this

and I fell worse.

I’m writing my way out. 

 

Literally. 

 

The hardest thing to do in this world

is to live in it. 

(I once heard)

 

So.

 

Lyve in it. 

 

Because

You get to be

 

BASIC

GAY

MILLENNIAL

 

LIVING 

YOUR

BEST

LYFE. 

 

<3 

Please reload

Featured Posts

I'm busy working on my blog posts. Watch this space!

Please reload

Recent Posts

July 15, 2017

December 12, 2016

November 12, 2016

November 9, 2016

October 26, 2016

September 2, 2016

September 1, 2016

August 16, 2016

August 15, 2016

Please reload

Archive
Please reload

Search By Tags
Please reload

Follow Us
  • Facebook Basic Square
  • Twitter Basic Square
  • Google+ Basic Square