Boy Renaissance

"Untitleable"

(Final image generated by AI)
(Music: quiet by this will destroy you)

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THE SOUL TOLD ME

The soul told me to let her trickle in;
to let her timbre wax into the room
like a moon filling up the empty space of itself,

to let her eyes be beautiful,
and let her laugh be her laugh --
not the tearing polaroid that sends
me smalling myself
to hide from how quickly
happiness comes apart.

The soul told me to, in stillness, let disquiet be there.
Soften into the pain
and let it teach you where you are unbalanced,

where a simple hand can push you over,
where your skin is coming loose,
where your bones are creaking.

The soul told me
to take the blanket and candle up
and once more find a beach,

told me that the newspaper she longs to read
with you in bed
won't throw itself through your window;

it is bought
and the chicory is made by hand,
with boiling water waited for
and a mug washed,
carried into the room by hands that
write the story of the heart.

There are three types of adventure:

The one you'll always long for
to take you from your life,

the one you can choose to have every day were it not for your incessant self-suppession,

and the one you're having this second:

The soul brought me here --
to this threshold I've longed for
and deigned to embrace.

Allow me, mind heart body to be here
in the greatest truth
you can allow --

the truth of my own deepest character as I am now.

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(I found this poem while I was looking through my old photos. Written in 2020. Glad I've dug it up