Queer Cherry
It is cold where I sleep. I want to sleep on the floor, but
I am scared that something will kill me. I told my parents about my anxiety.
They felt bad. My mommy keeps looking at me sadly and saying “We did not raise
you to be scared.”
I need a new place to sleep.
Is there room in your bed
For another stuffed animal?
I promise not to make too much noise
Or keep you up at night.
I will be a silent observer while you sleep,
Watching your chest rise and fall
Seeing you drift deeper into your own head
And away from my plastic eyes.
I hope that, one day, you’ll say
That you aren’t too big (or old)
To cuddle a toy at night,
And you will take me in your arms,
Holding me close,
Letting me fight off the dangers of the
Dark.
Sometimes my friend writes poems that I don't really understand--and that's fine, because they're not meant to be understood by me, even though I'm pretty certain some of them are about me. She's got a secret mind full of secret thoughts.
But some of them are like this one and I want to grab the world by the throat and shake them and cry, LOOK, LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRL AND THE WAY THAT SHE THINKS, IT'S MARVELOUS, PAY ATTENTION.
One of my friends won a poetry contest and got in the paper for it.
She didn't tell me that she got in the paper. Humble artsy types and all. I found out this morning.
I felt as proud as a father.
I wanted to stand up in the middle of the cafe and raise that newspaper towards the heavens and point at the little shitty picture and yell, "I KNOW THIS CHICK."
