28.

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

A

BASIC

GAY

MILLENNIAL

LIVING

YOUR

BEST

LYFE.

<3

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