Chris

any pronouns :)

[shittygaypoems]

The thing about a slow burn is that it burns the whole way down.

[shittygaypoems]

A poem for the dead

A drachma a head

Wand'ring the river styx

When I shall die

Right where I lie

Pour the coins in a'plenty.

Gold for the souls

That they can pay toll

To ferry to better lands

How many are short

There is no report

I'll save as many, even if my soul must wander.

[shittygaypoems]

There is a quiet beauty in simple love

The friends who research the apartment complex you're moving to in a brand new city to make sure they approve

The people who have seen your room in the worst state imaginable and still came to sit in it with you

When you've been gone, no matter how shortly, being greeted by a hug at the door and a cuddle on the couch.

Being able to love and be loved in a way that feels easy and gentle.

Missing them in a way that feels gut-wrenching and devastating, but only being able to feel privileged that you have someone worth missing that much

A soft, easy, domestic love.

[shittygaypoems]

Jesus in a church basement

I found Jesus in a church basement

Singing songs about what it means to be Christian

Being Christian is to feel joy, apple red happiness, sunshine cheerfulness

That your life is a donut, missing a hole without a savior

The sweetest candies veiling the bitterest truths of the world

Convincing children of their own filth

Obligatory testimony sharing turning into shaming afterwards

Forcing tragic stories with humbling ever-afters to prove that Jesus does love you too, feeling the emptiness when you know your friends have been through so much more, and Jesus saved them from it, so maybe the fix to the problem is to have a harder life, then Jesus would care enough to fix it

Being lectured about masturbation before ever being taught what it means

Wondering if maybe you are doomed to be miserable when everyone around you was so happy

Being 23 and feeling bad for the 7 year old you were, who wasn't given the perfect attendance award because her dad was the pastor, and she was forced to be there, so you didn't deserve to be honored

You didn't deserve to be honored for being at the church at 7:15 every Sunday to set up the chairs

For starting the coffee for all the elders and deacons who were going to be there at eight

For setting up the Sunday school room so your teachers would one day notice how much you deserve the love of Jesus

After all, they absolutely acted like they were the ones who doled it out

I lost Jesus in a church basement.

I began to lose him years before

I said my final goodbyes, though, as I sat in a bathroom with a broken lock that had let in a man who decided to welcome himself inside the bathroom and use me

I looked to the stained glass window, an artistic rendering of a local woman who had been close to drowning, but was miraculously saved before any harm came to her

A wrinkly hand covered my screams for help,

I shed a single tear to mourn the loss of the Jesus who saved her, but never came for me

[shittygaypoems]

Allegorically overextending

I keep my life in a wardrobe. Every morning, I open the wardrobe and put my experiences on. I carry them with me every day, the weight of my life on my shoulders and around my hips.

These clothes have virtues and balances. Pain is in the wooden slats of the armoire, but between the cotton threads of my apparel is wisdom and strength. 

When I hear you are cold, I reach into my wardrobe and pull out a jacket. "Here, wear this until you are warm." You carry my jacket with you. You absorb all of the lessons in the fabric without having to carry the pain. I love you enough to allow you to peer inside my wardrobe and wear my clothing. I love you enough to let you wear my sweatpants without having to help me move the wardrobe around the house as seasons change. 

One day, you stop wearing my jacket. I am proud of you. You are no longer cold, you no longer need it. However, you never gave it back. One day, I find it in a corner, crumpled up among other mementos of my soul I have broken off and given to you. It is dirty. It has holes. 

I pick my jacket up

I carry it home

I sew up all its holes

I clean it

I hang it neatly in my wardrobe for the next time you need to use it

And I wonder what your wardrobe looks like, and if you'll ever share it with me.

[shittygaypoems]

Your perfume

I promised you I'd forget you

And I thought I had

Until today, I smelled your perfume.

It wasn't on you.

It hit me as I stepped into an elevator. I pressed my floor number and closed my eyes.

It took me a moment to identify it, but as soon as I had, I was transported.

Suddenly we were riding in your car, the sun glistening through your hair, that goofy smile on your face.

We were atop a mountain, admiring the feat we had just accomplished, when you leaned into me gently and I stroked your hair.

We were singing in the car to a song that saved us both.

I promised I'd forgotten you.

But then I smelled your perfume.

[shittygaypoems]

The first thing I fell in love with was her vulnerability

Her immediate willingness to share with me the darkest things that she'd ever done

Not just communicating the things that had happened to her, but her own actions

A firm representation of accountability and honesty

She stands out like a sore thumb in her circles, though she wishes she didn't.

She can feel the intensity of every single person perceiving her, and despises it all

The integrity with which she stands in the center of it all

She is the pinnacle of beauty, truth, and wisdom

All realize this, and are either jealous or worship her

I fell in love with her in the springtime, as the snow melted and the sun began to glisten again

With the sun, so came back her smiles

Beaming from her eyes, blessing anyone it falls upon

Walking around with her, it was almost surprising to see that people didn't turn to stone with a single glance,

Her strength emanating from her gaze,

Imparting kindness when she wants to, and cruelty when she needs to

I fell in love with her, but a god can not love a man in the same way a man can not love a speck of dust

Her post was too high for me to reach

She didn't need a worshipper, she needed a partner

And now all that remains of the deep love I carry for her are the poems

The poems that seemed to flow even smoother when she glanced my way that day

If she smiled at me, it was as if the words were overflowing and I could not contain them

They begged to be placed on paper,

But even with the power of a thousand poets, nor the space of a thousand pages, each containing a thousand words, could she ever be fully described

So as the memories fade

And I forget why I love her so much

The only thing that remains are the poems that begged to be written for her

[shittygaypoems]

Happy pride month, bitches. I'm about to become INSUFFERABLE

[shittygaypoems]

Sometimes words written deserve a different place than buried deep in a book filled with other excerpts from life

They are placed in locations to be honored

On the desk,

Bulletin board

Wall

And often these ones are the ones I wrote about you

Maybe it's time to put them back in the book

[shittygaypoems]

“What cute friends! Everyone has said to you as you hold hands with your second grade lover. You wonder why they shy away when you call her your girlfriend.

In fifth grade, the boys are joking around, calling each other gay. You don’t understand, why is being happy a bad thing? Your second grade lover, now your fifth grade lover, gently explains to you that boys can kiss boys. You find this peculiar, but it seems to be sometime you're okay with until your mother raises her voice at you for bringing it up at home. She tells you not to talk to that girl anymore.

In seventh grade, your fingers still interlock with hers. Always friends, ever anything more. She asks you if you have ever wanted to kiss a girl before. Yes, you have, but you remember the urgency with which your mother searched for the remote when the word “lesbian” was spoken on the news. You have to say no

It is the summer before ninth grade begins, and you are sitting on the swings with your lover, holding her hand. You tell her that you are about to start dating your first boyfriend: her cousin. She tries her best to hide the heartbreak on her face. Your relationship is never the same after that.

In tenth grade, you both take an independent study class. It is just the two of you, no teacher, alone, in the room, every day of the week. It is music theory and both of you are skilled pianists, so you finish it in a week. You look at her and you realize all of the feelings you had held onto for years, never realizing that girls were allowed to date other girls. One day, cuddling and watching stupid videos together, you share a glance that lasted just a little bit too long.

Soon, you find yourself falling out with her. Both of your frustrations, the years of longing, the pain, the cruel words shared. You miss your friend, but mostly, you miss your lover. You share a glance in the locker room one day. You had been fighting so much that you were constantly angry at each other. But in this look, you saw the pain etched across her face, and you realized she doesn’t hate you. You both love each other and lack the words, support, and community to safely share it.

That glance is burned in your memory, a brand that stains every thought of her. The moment you realized the pain was love in a different font.

You return home from college to a friend's funeral. She offers you a ride to the crash site. You take it. The ride is filled with the kind of silence that slices words out of throats and crushes them into frogs that stick and clog every sound that tries to come out. You get to the site he died at, and you both begin to choke on the loss.

Two lovers sit down on the side of the road to ogle at a cross bearing their friend’s initials, and they hold each other. They shed the years of unrequited love, dislodge the wedges between them, and they hold each other in a soft moment of bereaved silence. They part, knowing that their story together is over. Loving each other all the same.

[shittygaypoems]

When I see you in a white dress

It'll be as your maid of honor

I'm happy for you

I really am

I'll write the best toast

I'll plan the best bachelorette

I'll buy you the best gift

But I'll still be here

Watching you come down the aisle

Wishing you were meeting me at the altar and not her

[shittygaypoems]

The next time you fear you are too much, when you feel you must tone yourself back.

The next time you feel the need to say "enough about me" as a veiled way to make me feel like I'm being talked about enough

Know that I could never have enough of you

I want the words you speak to me to be long enough to paint every last piece of paper in the world with the stories that exit your lips and are graciously laid upon my ears.

Share your fire with me. Your love, your hate, your pride, your fear. Share it all. Share that energy that drew me to you.

And most of all,

I pray that I have enough courage to wrap you up and explain to you that you are never too much for me. That there could never be too much of you in the world.

That you, my love, are the most beautiful thing to happen to this world.

[shittygaypoems]

I do not fear emotions

I will gladly break my own heart and feel the bitter resentment that comes along with it

What truly fear is it's quiet and the emotions stop.

What then?

[shittygaypoems]

What I really wanted to say

When you kissed me,

What I wanted to say was just how much I had begged the universe for this day to come.

But I didn't.

What I wanted to say was that when you sent me a video of your cat, I watched it over and over and over again just to hear the tiny snippet where you said something to her.

But I didn't.

I wanted to say that you were my Helen of Troy. That you were the one I can't live without. That I am hopelessly in love with you. That every time my phone vibrates I hope it is you. That when you smile, I want to protect that joy with every fiber of my being. That even listening to you complain is the highlight of my day because I got to hear you speak. That when you come by my desk, a deep contentment rises from my soul and fills my entire being. That when you are in your element, my heart melts.

But I think we all know I didn't say any of that.

What I wanted to say to you was "yes!" That I would love to be with you.

But I didn't.

What I said was that you needed to heal from your last relationship.

I said that the timing was off.

I said that I loved you too much to risk hurting you again before you heal and learn from your recent wounds.

I said I couldn't morally be with you knowing that I had been the friend who helped you through your breakup.

And it was all true.

But from the moment I got out of the car, I regretted it. And the list of things I wish I could say to you grew. Because that was the day I was moving away and lost the chance to say it to your face.

I wish you at least knew I loved you.

[shittygaypoems]

Do you know just what I would do to see that smile work its way around the room?

Have you ever seen it for yourself? Like really seen it?

Not in a picture. Not in a video. Have you ever looked in the mirror and really laughed?

If you had, I promise you would never be self conscious again

I know you would hate it if I called you beautiful to your face. But my dear friend, beauty wouldn't even begin to cover it