The Perfect Day

The Perfect Day

He used to stay,
awake, so late.
waiting for
the perfect day.

Wishing on
the rising sun.
to lift his loss
and right his wrong.

To take away
the liquid song,
that lulled his soul
and made him strong.

To the blackest night
he surrendered as friend.
To the bright of day
he could not defend.

The light could not
wash out the dirt.
Or the things he hid,
that made him hurt.

So alone he washed
his insides clean.
A lullaby,
he could not wean.

Waiting on
that perfect day,
to bring him rest,
as he quietly lay-

Like a child
at the foot of his bed
curled up tight,
with the voice in his head.

Afraid of the choice
to open his eyes.
And from his sheet,
he'd silently cry.

Until he was saved
from those things unseen.
And the day, it came,
When he set himself free.
























.

First Dance

First Dance

I remember my first dance,
Sweaty palms
heels slippery inside
the pointy shoes
that looked so perfect in the box.

It wasn't fear of wandering toes,
that rustled nerves
inside my throat
it was a look, or breath
that might touch my soul-

or not, if I failed to feel
what I thought I should
or taste love
like the pretty girls
in movies.

I was never drawn to holding hands,
confining myself to another-
though my bones knew,
that was the point
I couldn't bring myself to like it.

To dance felt the same,
my young skin growing red
veins pumped with dread,
and uncertainty
as I drew close to someone else.

Sequence shuffling
loose and sharp
against my freckled chest-
calling for a rest
though I couldn't hear the music.

Standing in the flickering light,
our fingers sliding between the cracks,
as we made fists
that fit like sandpaper
itching at my core-

It was then that I first understood
how to lose yourself for someone else,
and let go of fragments
raw and stagnant
to make room for things we don't yet know.