First of all, relax
the water can smell fear,
smile at your reflection.
if you breathe out,
your lungs will breath in for you; i promise
your body wants to live.
kick when you inhale,
kick when you exhale
and keep kicking inbetween.
where your head tilts
there your body will follow,
for balance, keep a level head.
when the deep confronts you
do not be afraid, the technique is the same:
relax, breathe, kick.
An “I can’t make you love me” poem
to the girl with my soul trapped in her teeth,
the one with glitter and blue highlighter on her galaxy skin
a forfeit poem, a white flag above my castle poem.
A “Love letter to my bros” poem
challenging masculinity, declaring love for my bros,
my future groomsmen, the ones i’ve missed flights with,
the ones i’ve cried to, the ones i’ve been to Budapest with,
yes, a love letter to my main men.
A “Love letter to me” poem, most likely a performance piece
Mohammed-Ali-esque poem, filled with quips,
taking flints to my insecurities, ending with
an encouragement to the listener to write
a “love letter to me” poem.
The builder smiles and says
“Ooooh if I had a superpower
I’d want the power to turn ordinary people
into a real harmonious choir you know”,
The “you know” cloaked in an undisclosed regional accent
“it’s not superman but it’s a gift”. He says “gift”
with a heavy “G” like it genuinely is heavenly manna,
he’s probably from Birmingham.
Me, I’d want the power of teleportation:
Be here. Be there. No in-between stations.
Didn’t really want to be here, But I said,
“wow, that’s special. What would we call that?
Teleki-singing?” And we laughed.
And I stayed.
I refuse to compare what we have to
nicotine or heroin like these novices do.
the thing between us is like,
an underground bunker
yes, an underground bunker
one we weren’t aware of,
one we didn’t think we’d see,
till that nuclear tipped Tuesday
and it was obvious:
we were the masons.