Mostly I want To be myself Something special To someone else
Little girls and gay men Love them some Jonathan Can’t reciprocate Wish them a life great
I cast the blame on you and her That just might be a bit obscured To tell the tale with honest voice I have to acknowledge my choice
I’ve always been Out on the run I’ve never felt Like had a home And then one day
Martins are a special breed Set apart from rest, indeed Took me in when was in need Of a home and love extreme
You’ll have to take It slow with me That’s just the way Things have to be I’m sensitive
Because you exist Is the best reason For you to persist
Elaborate mazes Of conjured phrases Tickle the ear Of literary peers But don’t read the type
I choose to be The Most Unclean So you can see The God in thee
You’re nineteen You can choose who to be Nineteen Maybe fancy and free Nineteen
I guess I write poetry I just vomit my soul onto paper I don’t know what else to call it but, poetry
You’re the bestest bud Anyone could love And your soul shines through All the doom and gloom Fortunate to have
I lived today. I breathed. I moved. I was. I hope I helped.
I have no tricks. I have no sleeves. I have only me. And that’s enough.
I love the way you say that you Are drawn to my voice I love the tremble in your touch The steady of your choice I love the open hand you give
