To the boy who sat beside my gate with a black leather bag;
I saw you.
I saw you but you didn't.
I saw you but I didn't see what you were eating but I could tell.
I could tell from the way you took every bite down your little bullet-shaped throat.
I could tell from the way you looked in your no button, loose cotton fabric of a cloth,
I could tell...
I could tell that that was the last meal you would eat today
And I could tell that your dusty palms
shaped like an open Bible on a shelf
were too weak to pray.
I could tell because you didn't see me,
but I saw I you.
I saw a boy who looked like a father's curse but his mother's blessing.
I saw a boy who looked like an abandoned "goodbye" with broken wings.
I saw a boy who looked like two lines of poetry that lost its meaning
because they were forced to rhyme.
I saw a boy whose hairline told stories of clumsy razor blades
Held by the strongest of hands telling him not to be afraid,
Yes, I saw you...
I saw you.
But I did nothing.
I passed by and went inside with clenched fists and a bitter heartbeat
And my footprints?
My footprints landed on the ground two seconds before I could take a step.
But I think I feel less guilty because you didn't look at me.
So whoever sees the boy who sat beside my gate, holding a black leather bag,
Let him know I wrote a poem about him.
Explain to him that I am a coward
Who hides behind a pen and awkward verses
And tell him my words are nothing but weak corpses
And they can only lie on my tongue, like an autopsy table--
Unable to make a difference.
Tell him...
Tell him I wished I called him inside to have some spaghetti.
YOU ARE READING
Anxiety and Things that Shatter
Poetry"Anxiety, you are lightening and a thunder only I can hear. In my despair, you wear an intimidating smile like a glittering stretch mark on the skin of the horizon." Cover by @DeathsDarkSoul
