Hands of a Blue Eyed Boy

your hands were fists that learned how 
to clench and fight
before they learned how to love
you learned to run because walking was too slow
losing more of yourself in strange cities than
you ever found
apologized out loud to everyone for your full lips
and all the conversations that you ruined
dark nights became your preference
there no one could see you didn't fit into
the categories they prearranged for you
you grew a hatred for your own morning greetings
as they were barely met with
gritted silence of your peers
or sometimes an almost barely audible grunt

the walls to your mothers clapboard shack fell apart
but you still miss the rhythms of life there that were
wired to the circle space of a clock
the windows rebelled
swelling shut from rain refusing entry
epiphanies were already transforming
your blue eyes
like light shards from
the most brilliant, translucent glass
sleep was not a luxury
in an attic where you dreamed and awoke
after the midday hour covered in sweat
illuminating your terrors

you fell in love with the rain 
the sound pounding on your metal roof
and it eased erratic racing thoughts because it
demanded nothing
and after all the fights and the afterglow of craved
for flickering lights
you realized you've been carrying sadness
far too long
and loving its weight
happiness was irrelevant for the boy
with sky blue eyes
who learned blue rooms are sad rooms and
the wind
in the pine trees will always know your name
the eye of the storm became the only thing you
could expect
pain is recommended for you
because that's the way a boy like you learns to love

words that mattered never arrived
kisses were too absent
and dreaming is a beautiful thing but a boy like you
wastes too much time counting the circles engraved
on his fingers wondering
will his hands ever be clean enough to make love
make sense
he says
"at least the sky is clean out of my reach" 


A poem from Sad Romantics.