A sometimes boy

From: Kingsley

Hey beautiful boy,

I thought of how much we’ve been through in the hands of men we once loved and I decided to scribble a few lines of poems. Do not pretend that you don’t know poetry is how I heal.

I thought of how you presold your body to the gender you are not attracted to. And these were my thoughts:

The night before your wedding, you cried because I told you I didn’t want to be caught in the middle.

You cried because you didn’t think a man could love you so much, He made you a priority on his time and tabled your issues as his and ironed them out.

Your first man was unstable like your first wet dream.

Painful, shocking, almost traumatizing yet he had the guts to ask you to show him your scars.

You replied, “Aren’t the wounds in my words enough?”

The sex came with a healing complex; you built towers of sin with one hand and hoped to God that in this Babel, when your language changes, your moans will sync in as one.

The second man was a photographer for orgasms, when he zoomed in; he found fake pixels surrounding your profile. (Sometimes, I also wonder if you fake orgasms with me). And I know you would say, “It’s all in your head” But you know me and my anxiety disorder.

Eyes to eyes,

Nose to nose,

Tongue to tongue,

You stopped praying the gay away,

You stopped responding to every snide remark made against the community.

You were one body away from losing eternal life. You tried to enjoy the moment until you were strong enough to make your own commandments.

Quick question:

How did you love someone who made your feelings a performance? He used your tears for lube and your anger as protection against the cold.

I saw Jude the other day and he said, in the most bizarre, philosophical tone, “Charles had married a girl when his dreams do not include her and he is not bold enough to leave her”

1. I held my body like anyone would a sacrifice, washed off every feeling and love I had for you, it felt better because I did it by myself, but when the thoughts of you swallowed me whole for three days and dropped me off on the shores of resentment,

I found the body shipped back to me in pieces I never knew body parts could be shredded into.

2. I made dolls out of my heart and shared them.

Gave one to my mother; she knows how to handle a broken heart.

She loved it so much; it’d molded itself into something beautiful to look at.

I’d hardly recognize it and neither would you

3. The only memory I have of my first fight with my first love would be my blood on his knuckles because I shouted at a boy whose intentions were calmer than his anger.

On days when I had forgotten about the fight, you sucked off the blood and we used it as lipstick when I appeared as a cross dresser.

4. I am now a plant dad; I dress up flowers,

Gathered the sweat from every sex he forced me to have with him into bottles and noticed how the flowers grow from My DNA. These are my children now.

I talk to them, breed them and watch them blossom into something I was never bold enough to be.

5. I am positive.

My newest relationships do not make it far and they are a reminder of all my failures.

But so what if I keep failing at the hands of dubious men?

Watch my body make rounds at the next auction, sold to the lowest bidder.

And when I make poems out of my trauma, no one would clap or snap because it isn’t relatable.

They don’t teach this kind of love.

Yours’ Ever,

“A Sometimes Boy”