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Hideaway

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In the evening it’s quiet

and all so overwhelming,

how the floorboards creak—

listening to music,

the refrigerator hums.

It feels like Winter in West Haven.

Summer in Black Point.

It feels like sleepovers on Hill Street.

Has the world forgotten us?

Or have we just found relief?

A little sort of hideaway

that no one else can see.

So I pour a cup of coffee—

do all I can to stay awake.

For now the storm has passed.

And all that trickles in

from the window that’s been open,

are the cooing sounds of morning

that no more than a sneeze could break.

Our Wedding Day

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Today I marry my best friend.

Who even in our times of separation

has never left my side.

Do you know how truly special you are?

Because I do.

Allow me to explain.

For years I tried to deny my love

curiosity, and admiration for you.

For years I tried to keep you

buried like treasure, in poetry and words—

(so sure that one day you’d forget me)

For years I was a fool

desperate for attention, and scared to tell the truth.

Do you ever feel ugly or impossible to love?

Like no matter how hard you try,

there’s always this voice urging you to quit?

What boggles my mind most

is how long I spent pretending.

Trying everything I could

to become something that I wasn’t.

Believing that if I kept us a secret

I wouldn’t have to face reality.

The reality that I am a sweet, honest man.

The reality that I am dignified and true.

The reality that no matter how hard I’ve tried to forget—

you’ve never forgotten me, and I’ve never forgotten you.

So today, I marry my best friend.

The sweetest person I’ve ever known.

You’re the love of my life.

You’re the fire to my stone.

And now, my love

we are free to do anything.

I Think Of You My Friend

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You would have been 34 years old, Alvaro

if not for that motorcycle accident

that turned your body cold.

I guess nobody knows until they know

how fragile life can be.

Or how in the blink of an eye

someone so kind, could be taken from us all.

Because at the ripe age of 27,

we don’t think in terms of death.

We think in terms of life.

We think in terms of speed.

And all the nights we passed the time with nothing else to do,

but laugh until our eyes grew wide with nothing much to prove.

And how you must have known, it meant so much to me.

Just know it’s with a heavy heart, I think of you my friend.

And from this chair of memories, I’m glad to have known you then.

I’m So Much Better Than This

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Nothing feels good

and the silence isn’t helping.

I could move but what’s the point?

Anger’s got the best of me.

To think that when I woke up

all I wanted was for home.

Now the air just stinks of shame.

I feel less than zero.

And all that gets remembered

is how I’ve failed you again.

And I Think To Myself

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It’s all a bit depressing,

like singing in the rain.

The over-sentimental

mere dreamers all the same.

It’s all a bit depressing,

like Pollack splattered paint.

Squandering potential,

my spirit slowly wanes.

Restless Peace

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At restless peace I am

with the wind and sidewalk rustlings.

I hear no evil

but listen, careful

to the teacher in my head—

Ahem, it says, you see my boy

with an air of confidence,

before the mind had time to grow

to stretch it’s arms and wiggle toes

from abc’s to no means no

it was already in survival mode.

So from that time it tried to be

chameleon, I mean everything

to everyone without a doubt

as quiet as a field mouse,

the pressure grew and grew.

So that it’s not a man I see

or reckless boy in front of me

it’s simple with perspective, he’s

finally catching on.

What’s done is done is done.

The rhyme is just for fun.

If you can’t learn the lesson now,

there’s one last question that I’ll ask—

At restless peace, I listen

then watch the flowers grow,

focus on the question

and answer best I can.

Tired eyes and apprehension.

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Getting away turned out to be the easy part—it only took 12 years.

Getting here would prove to be a chaotic mess—22 years hence.

Except I never got better, we never got help, and it slowly got worse.

I could draw the parallels between my father and I

but what would that matter—you only know us from one side.

And they say that children being a product of suicide tend to show a lack of interest, almost as if nothing really matters.

Well, to be candid, let’s just say I know a guy who can vouch for that.

I mean, how do you explain being on a train

wishing it would crash, just so life would slow the fuck down?

Just enough so that even the slightest change of scenery made any sort of sense.

Is this room ok? Isn’t this house nice?

How do you explain not wanting attention because it made you so damn nervous that even the easiest task seemed incomprehensible?

Do you want to go outside? Make some friends?

Who do you turn to when you can see through everything and everyone, knowing they’re in just as much shit as you?

So inward you go—wanting nothing but to be alone.

At some point you come to realize that it’s the only place you can control.

The only catch is, that train never crashes. And everything you thought at some point would be figured out, is just another heart racing conversation you swore you’d never have again.

The only parallel I can draw between the two, is chaos.

The other is our attempt at a logical excuse.

But there is no excuse.

Only tired eyes and apprehension.

The Progress No One Sees

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There wasn’t much pain anymore, just this numb curiosity that glazed his eyes with bitter knowing, as he understood that no matter how many questions received there answer, there would always be one, that only he could accept.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, not really. That’s not to say there wasn’t any sadness. In fact, sadness was still there, much like a dear friend, waiting and willing to drop everything in order to be with him, listen to him, and strengthen him, in times of need.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, just this constant urge to flee, and no matter how good the situation was, it came on like tinnitus, this constant ringing in his ear that seemed to say—think of all the things you could be doing…but you’re not…because you’re here.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, just time. Time enough to do anything and everything he needed to get done, if only he could grasp a sense of urgency, before being halted by this ability to fade within himself—hours on end—and not do anything at all.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, not really, just this introspection. It came on like a migraine, but left him feeling light. And over time this bitter knowing, well, it didn’t go away, but lessened with each breath. It was a private understanding—one he’d keep forever—in the tender of his heart.

The difference

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The Summer was never peaceful—

Filled with silent worry

Watching from my window

Her skin turn golden brown—

Here’s everything, they said

Tokens for your smile

Just listen to the carnival

and what fun they’re having

How still it breaks my heart—

But what’s a boy of 12 to do

When everything seems pointless

And your world is very small

Knowing no one really listens

To the secret lives of children—

but I had a good mother who tried,

and that made all the difference.

Nothing Feels Better Than Pain

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Haven’t got the chords or melody.

Nothing feels better than pain.

I haven’t got the reasons anymore.

Haven’t got the words to explain—

People living life like it’s a parody.

Everyone to me looks the same.

I haven’t got the reasons anymore.

Nothing feels better than pain—

Prove to me there’s goodness, and I’ll prove you wrong.

Prove to me there’s no pawn in this game.

Talking to you now just feels meaningless.

When Courage gets mistaken for Insane—

I haven’t got the reasons anymore.

Nothing feels better than pain.

Haven’t got the chords or melody.

Haven’t got the words to explain.