David is so much ****** origami by now

It is 4 am and I find him folded to the floor
A cigarette in his mouth
He is trying to stand

He is immune to his sleeping pills
But we can’t give him more

So he wakes dreamily to smoke

He breaks things

He broke things

Threw me through a plate glass window once

I carry him to the couch

Don’t ******* touch me
I can walk *******

I take the cigarette from him and finish it

I don’t smoke

I wipe the blood from his nose
And the torn shreds of skin peeling from his paper arms

I think about what people have said to me
About how abused kids abuse what they can

I wonder how I will hurt the people I love
When it finally comes to that

When loving me back is dangerous

I tuck him in tight enough so that he might not get up
The rest of the night

He laughs to himself

Maybe he hasn’t stopped dreaming

I’ve never wanted to hurt anybody

Even him

Especially because

I don’t love him

Justin looks at me from over the counter
He keeps his face in profile
Stops to pace

You know it just ***** because
I can’t see all of me
So I don’t know how to fix it all
It’s like the moon
It can’t see all of itself either

He nods his head as if he’s agreeing with his own thoughts
He steps aside so I can ring people out
Still paces
Still nods his head

Jon,
How do I get girls to like me?
I’m strong and nice,
But what if that’s not enough
Because I can’t see all of me like they can
Ya know?

I know
So tell him that I am still trying to figure that one out myself

I can see all of you
That’s why I come

To him
People are ***** you can hold
Glowing ***** of light
We pulse like stars

And this whole time I thought there was something wrong with me
Because I’ve felt it

Feel it when
Halfway through performing a poem about my brother
I burst into tears

Or how sometimes
I just want someone to touch me
Run your hand across my belly

There is a sun
Swirling fire in my breastplate
I just want someone to see it

It is made of
Fortified bone flint
And the slow breath made between lips while kissing
And is coated in palm skin
Because the only thing I’ve ever been good at
Is holding people proper

And I am happy to hear someone sees it

Sees me as a man
With a decent heart
And a sun in his chest

Even though I spend half my time ******* up

Everything

I tell him this

Justin,
I only know one thing to tell you
It’s the only true thing I’ve ever learned

As long as you want to be better
You will be

And
As long as you want someone to love you
*Someone will

It's a long walk,
the way that women are,
and I've already lost miles
to the races.
Try appealing to a youthful
star, have 'em throw money
to the wayside.

I was howlin'
like some horrid wind.
I was prowlin',
bayside,

sick of the **** I was sittin' in.

I was a wizard,

baby,

I was a blizzard
blowin'
through your front door.


I try, I try,
I try, I try,
now put me on trial,

baby,

you can't fake style!

It's not a mask,
and it's not just a past
but something more.
And I'll be able to tell
just what that is
as soon as I
figure all
The above my brow
considerations.
The ones that we
crawl towards,

the delicacies that
you spit at me,

you spit them from your
mouth; young,
European tongue,
look at what you've done!

Why?
Why so profound?
Why,
just act petty,
demographics
don't stop me.
Why?
Why so profound?
Why,
just be pretty instead,
demographics don't stop me.

Seeing you drops me

into a roiling hot-spring (extra-dimensionally speaking) where
the insides are known to welter—their opalescent phospholipids

doing the wave at lightspeeds. Faster. Creating
a ring of light. Now the sound of light. From inside, creating

            Me.      You

            make me light.

Oh the way you came towards me in that vermillion cardigan!
The color was not as fierce as your eyes! But I saw, too,

their softness behind—their yolk. And with mine I asked
            as you passed me by
what would happen if I broke            the shimmering membrane?
            
            Would your water leak to blossom
the spell-bound violet amaranths that sleep their promise
                         in Borges’ living garden?
            
            Or would it spill thick in crimson?
The hot sweet density tasting
                         like a wound freshly opened.

The taste I’ve come to know
                                 when women’s eyes have made me light.