jules

he/him. 18

[ofwarmrivers]

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hello, I’m Jules :) I write poetry sometimes. Feedback is welcome and encouraged!

[ofwarmrivers]

the role of cain, reprise

I had a dream last night

Where I was Cain, without

An Abel.

No brother born

To kill or coddle, no Lord

To shun, to curse myself

With the weight of life eternal.

This dream I had last night

Had left me one, half empty

Half myself, no story yet

For with no Abel,

What is there of Cain?

What is the stone

If not a weapon,

What is the wheat

If not an offering?

What is Cain if not a brother?

What is the pain of disappointment

without the fuel of pure resentment?

An only child, does he crave the kill,

Without a brother to bleed carefully?

Brother, favored by the sole creator—

Neither son, here, is favored;

No—

The Lord is only bored with me;

Ignored by Him, he will still see

The goodness that has come from me,

But no reward will come for it

A nod or shake is all I’d get.

Is this fate worse than my true nature?

This dream I had last night—

Or was it the night before it?

It doesn’t matter

if prior or latter,

though the dream,

it did still cling to me.

Even as Cain, I knew myself.

I knew how closely I can keep

the things dearest to me.

My tendency to squeeze too tight

To bend and break brittle graphite,

And snap at lovers angrily

Like tight-tuned catgut strings,

To lunge, to maul with teeth

Imperfect and carnivorous,

This dream,

He’s loved by Eve and Adam

As their boy had not betrayed;

As I had not betrayed,

As I had not been given reason

To deal treason unto God,

And brazenly bereft dear Eve

Of the only son she’d weep upon.

I had a dream, one night,

Where I was Cain, without an Abel;

No prompt to sin, not yet a fable:

Who’d never know his own two hands

Could raise fists or stones to man.

Maybe he’d die believing it.

Think his hands were only built for prayer.

Let another tiller of the prairie

Be the man who slays and buries!

And he’d become the story, then,

And Cain, he’d be forgotten,

Yes, he would die,

Near his unnamed sister-wife,

In the soil God allowed him.

It doesn’t matter who Cain is.

Neither his reason for the hunt,

Or if he regrets the loss,

If his name is Cain or not.

The Role of Cain may fall upon

Any man, or woman, child,

If overcome by wrath

Enough to suffocate the mild.

So I wonder if Cain rests

Inside of every hand and stone,

Choosing the open palm to fist

And to build instead of mangle.

Wonder, if goodness is a virtue,

Or the absence

Of an Abel.

[ofwarmrivers]

summer of ‘16

I’ve got to be half honest

when I say I don’t know how to act

when your hazel eyes

look into mine

like I’m something nice to look at.

I’m sort of frayed and

made of wires

spew drivel like a madman

and stare wide eyed at passerby’s

and you, half a head

rest your head upon my shoulder

like a boulder kissing boulder

and you complain you’re getting colder.

we might live together

and I might feel some sort of way

different in the way you

hold my hand or kiss my knuckles

in the way you understandably

tear me apart like cardboard

sort of half-assed and incomplete

but enough to make me overheat

enough to expose inside of me

and I know we weren’t meant to be

I know you weren’t made for me

I’m not stupid when it comes to that

you’re going places and I’m not

I only hope I won’t be in your past

A whisper in your ear from

so many years ago

holding your waist, kissing your neck

becoming something complicated

and I am tired, you know this

you know I that I can’t play these games

with you, with you anymore

and I’ll pretend you aren’t all I need

I will find a girl to love me then

and it’ll really mean something

then maybe you will realize, when

you’re all alone in that apartment

you missed out heavy on this summer love

maybe 5 summers ago

[ofwarmrivers]

death and her concubines

EVERY SECOND OF MY CONSCIOUS LIFE

I CAN ONLY THINK

OF WAYS THAT I

MAY DIE l.

AT ANY SECOND

IN A MOMENTS NOTICE,

ON THE OTHER SIDE

OF THE COUNTRY,

IN MY BED

AS I LIE

AWAKE AT NIGHT,

ABOARD A PLANE

WITH NOTHING LEFT

BUT MY SWEATER IN THE ROOM

ACROSS FROM ME.

I MAY BE STUCK

INSIDE A HOLE, A DITCH,

BUMP IN THE ROAD

AND MY POOR MOTHER

SHE WILL NEVER KNOW.

EVERY SECOND OF MY CONSCIOUS LIFE

I THINK OF WAYS I MAY OR MIGHT

PASS AWAY, FALL FROM THE SKY

BE BURIED

IN THE GROUND THAT NIGHT

WHEN MY REMAINS

TRAVEL TO THE LOT

MY MOTHER HARDLY COULD’VE BOUGHT

WITH THE SEASIDE VIEW

AND THE WILLOW TREE

AMIDST THE ROCKS,

WHERE YOU’D FIND ME

BURNING THE BUTT OF A CIGARETTE

TO GET ITS LAST PUFF

TO MY MOUTH,

THE ONE THAT MAY

FILL WITH CANCEROUS SORES

THAT SPREAD TO LUNGS

AND LIVERS, LORD, I’VE BEEN

AN AWFUL GOOD BOY, I SAY,

THIS CANCER, DORMANT,

MAY NOT BE PRAYED AWAY!

EVERY SECOND OF MY CONSCIOUS LIFE

I WONDER, PONDER MY OWN TIME

ON THIS WILTING PLANET, SO FAR

FROM US, AND SUCH A WASTE IT IS

TO LOVE, TO DIE, TO KISS AND CALL

EACH-OTHER FRIENDS OR FOES—

AND WE MAY ALL DIE, ONE DAY

ONE WAY, SO FAR AWAY

OR CLOSER THAN YOU MAY

COME TO BELIEVE—YOU’LL SEE NO LIGHT

ONLY, THE ONE THAT FADES

AND IT PAINS ME, HERE TODAY,

TO RECOGNIZE THE WAY YOUR BODY

TWITCHES, JUST LIKE MINE!

WHEN I FEAR WHAT MAY BE COMING.

I ONLY HOPE IT MAY BE PAINLESS

WITHOUT THE THROBBING OF THE CHEST

OR THE BLUNT FORCE OF A 10-TON TRUCK

I HOPE, YES, IT MAY BE QUICK

AND THAT I’VE LIVED A LIFE THATS FULL

THAT I HAVE SEEN THE ONES I LOVE

FALL AWAY, JUST AS I WOULD

AND THAT I’VE HAD TIME TO MOURN.

[ofwarmrivers]

I am afraid of mirrors

I am afraid of mirrors

for I won’t like what I will see

I can’t avoid the shadow,

the shape of me, in front of me.

it follows me, the shadow

it climbs along the walls,

playing games with the witness

and the light, as it crawls.

I’m terrified to see it

walking down the street

and I know the shape of hips

of bodies knit tight

the sensation of tacky skin,

slick

with the feeling of the shower

the kind where you can’t

look

down

either stare at the drain

or the spider on the ceiling.

and you’ll know if I’m reeling

in the rain, as it tugs me

down and sticks clothes

wet

to skin and bones

that never quite jut

out of fat and muscle

even when clothes

are far

too

tight.

I am afraid of mirrors.

I am too, afraid of rain

of the moon,

the sun,

the lights that line the streets

for they remind me of the way

that I appear to be.

I am afraid of mirrors.

[ofwarmrivers]

5 more minutes, please

the morning came the way it always does.

I press the top button on my phone

when my alarm blares through the haze.

this morning, I’m not wondering,

nor mourning my own dreams.

I am waiting to wake again—

so give me five more minutes, please.

somewhere outside, the tide is quiet,

turning with new weight.

it settles on the shore, careless

of the life that it wastes.

this morning, he doesn’t wonder,

nor wander along the waves.

he sits there still, eyes shut and pale,

asking for five more minutes, please.

she’s merciful, the ocean,

allowing him the freedom to never

know the sound of his own loss,

to never see the faces twisted

in pain now that he’s gone.

forever young he’ll be—maybe it was fate.

but it won’t stop his mother’s plea,

wishing for five more minutes, please.

hours later, far from the shore,

homecoming on a ferry boat

comes the way it always has.

my mother breaks the news:

he was found under the docks,

along the shoreline—missing socks.

I drop the phone.

kiss my fingers.

pretend the truth is false,

that he wasn’t taken by the sea.

lord, give me five more minutes, please.

[ofwarmrivers]

30

I never was your little boy

but when I’m pushing 30,

know I’ll be an uncle somewhere

a daddy for a baby

I’ll be a mister to somebody

and when I look into the mirror

I won’t be dissatisfied

I will see the light that’s clear

I hold out hope for this

as now it all seems bleak

my body does not match my mind

my voice neither discreet

and I will kiss it all goodbye

and when this voice is gone

when my body shifts it’s shape

please do not mourn its loss

[ofwarmrivers]

d/s

I will be strong for you

if it means you’ll pet my hair

and scratch my scalp

in that spot you found

that makes my head tilt sideways.

I will bark and bare my teeth

not to you, never to you

though to the hand that beats.

and to the hand that feeds

I will pretend that I am wanting

that I desire something darker

to leave marks on your neck

to gut you from the inside

like some wild, mongrel thing,

only for you to thank me

to coo my name and coddle

ignore the chain around my neck

and the way it connects to you.

I will be wild in a way

you still have control over

though when you yell

domesticate me

I will sit and behave delicately

[ofwarmrivers]

millipedes

guilt crawls on me like millipedes

up my spine and out my mouth

through guts and squirming

in stomach lining, trying to get away

they will not burn alive inside

neither will melt away.

I choke on them, segmented bodies

shoot out in blood and jutting legs;

I worry for them, these little things

even despite my gagging.

I wonder if their families

will miss them when they’re gone,

if they have mothers, if they’re alive

if they wait for them at home.

I wonder idle as they squirm

and flee for every crevice

and I apologize with watered eyes

when I heave and clutch the wall.

I am sorry, little things

I know you need a home somewhere

though my body will reject you.

though I will try to pick you out

from where you, there, will never rest

beneath my hot, thick skin

[ofwarmrivers]

mold spores

men like him are born of mold spores

or weeds seeding in summer

floating through the air unbothered

undisturbed and clinging to

whatever it can bear to cling to.

in every crevice, he lingers there,

in my life despite my distance

I let him stay, unbothered

undisturbed and clinging to

whatever he can bear to cling to.

[ofwarmrivers]

shoes

my shoes don’t fit right anymore.

the laces fray and tear,

and water floods the soles

like soles aren’t even there.

I ask my mom for new ones.

she tilts her head and smiles,

like I’ve said something stupid—

and I guess that kisses the truth

in a tender sort of way.

she laughs,

shakes her head:

says I’m far too old these days

to ask my mom to buy me shoes.

she should just tuck me into bed.

I ask momma what she means

about me getting old.

ask if getting old means my momma

won’t fuss when I catch a cold.

she rolls her eyes at me,

and I feel stupid all again.

I remember spring is coming,

so I check the windowpane—

and when I see myself in there,

it’s like I’m 10 feet tall today.

[ofwarmrivers]

larvae

I don’t think I’m wired

to do what I’m supposed to.

Intimacy was never mine.

But I could act like I want it—

for you beneath me,

writhing like a newborn maggot,

or something prettier than that;

a doll

a mouth

something that takes and takes.

My name could be a pretty word

for once,

not spit out like a curse,

not gritted between teeth in command,

but sweetened on your tongue,

a coo, a gentle whine

breathed as vowels against

sweat-slicked skin

as if it could belong there.

I am not used to this.

Obedience.

My neck was welded to the leash

long before you ever held it—

now it’s on you,

and you play the mutt,

rolling belly-up,

waiting to be struck

or soothed.

I shift from pet

to something godly,

something you grin and sigh for

Perhaps I asked for this.

Perhaps I was wrong

to expect this writhing thing

to grow hands,

to press them on my throat,

to choke the buzzing out of me

until I feel like something real.

[ofwarmrivers]

love like a dog

doted on or left outside

bark and whine at

shadows in the candlelight

you soothe

and pet my hair at night

I’ll lean into you, just for tonight.

you call my name

so I come forward

hesitant and limping

and play with me, just for a while

until the day gets darker

and you claim that you’re tired;

I will wait by the door

I will wait for you, here by the door

and so tomorrow

we will play again

and you will scratch behind my ears

you will kiss the valley

between my eyes

and I will kiss you in return

in my own sort of way.

I will bare my maws in something

like a smile

and the baby, she will be afraid,

tell you to muzzle him

to put him far away

I have never bitten you

never thought to or desired

I am sorry you’ve considered it

am sorry you feel the need to run

sorry that the other dogs

make your ears hurt with their barks;

and you will fetch the whistle

my paws can’t reach my ears

so I will whine, and you will kick

and I will roll and body bare

so you know

I will not hurt you.

and where you used to pet me

on my stomach, tender, white

you leave with ice

inside your eyes

and I’ll sit there and wonder why

so idly

and besides,

the morning will come again

and maybe,

I can come inside

[ofwarmrivers]

baby boy

you let him into you like water

or something else less solid

tongue first, then your hands

clawing at the surface, flailing

your feet can’t find the bottom

of the trench he sinks you in,

he makes more of a mess of you

as he slides down your throat.

he used to be a baby boy

drew little suns on bruised knees

with sidewalk chalk, smiled at you

with half his teeth knocked out.

the boy still plays with fire trucks

but now with fingers on soft thighs,

smiling sour as he reminds you

fire trucks don’t stop at red lights.

you let him into you like water

like the salty sweat he bleeds

or the tears that fell from infant eyes

from sidewalk chalk scraped knees.

the pity made the water colder

only wishing you both were older.

the cold is easier to numb you

as the boy took what he wanted

as he were always spoiled rotten

[ofwarmrivers]

blood on my boxers again I could write a poem about this

[ofwarmrivers]

in another universe

It could’ve been different.

I could love you without hesitation

You could hurt me differently

And I’d be able to take it.

We could be happy.

I would be more open

To sacrifice.

I would give all I had

To change.

And maybe,

In that universe,

You could take responsibility.

[ofwarmrivers]

YAY 25 POSTS!!!