Bricks
(Bricks)
The borderline bores breaking backs of bites
Resting after stressing and muscles tense in protest
The sweat is the skins bile that crawls in swarms
The echoes from the left cast shadows beyond light
The ringing from right ready shields for a rough ride
The nape of your instinct on the bricks
Advocation isnât a cry for help, its making a scene
And surviving can only mean never being seenÂ
Loveâs on our minds, but a touch isnât fine
Showers with the guys would end our short lives
Glance to the right, this is a waste of time
Glare to the left, that would be a crime
Backs on the bricks
These ticks in your skin swell in a spin
Pull upward to breathe a final breath
Dive downward to see how grief and injustice met
Interlock a in-between squeezed tease of being incomplete
Pacing to the right without a place to hide
Spacing to the left to avoid a sudden violent rest
Teeth grinding and scraping on the bricks
Stones will break my bones, but they forgot the sticks
Multicolor blood stains the cold bricks
Gentle doves smashed against the bricks
A child's voice lost from swallowing the bricks
A boy caught in a braid beaten by the bricks
A girl caked in mud from the field limping on the bricks
The parade of warriors cheering for those of us who succumbed to the bricks
And an army of pride cries for the We who finally escaped the bricks
With a sigh in the wind for ones that are yet to be mauled by the bricks
- I am not a poet. I do not plan to ever really be one, but this is something that is on my mind frequently. As people of this community we all face our own round of the bricks. Homelessness, homophobia, isolation, loneliness, abuse, you name it. This piece was written outside of the boys and girls locker room one Monday morning a while back, a morning after I had cried myself to sleep (which is not unusual). Every day, for my own safety, I am to dress in the office so I donât get assaulted or what have you. As everyone else gets dressed, I am stuck between the two doors, and both worlds feel unsafe to me. I know that they are. I see and feel how they look at me, almost in a challenge, and they want me to overstep boundaries so they can strike. Every day I just sit against this rough brick wall and wonder to myself when in Gods name will I feel accepted anywhere?
I canât wait to leave this place after I graduate. To a place no one remembers me being forced to my six grade dance in a dress and crying the whole time. Every day is just one day closer to transitioning. One day closer. One day.