Tuesday, February 8, 2011

The Beautiful Boy (Is Not Me)

Every time I see you
Is a spark of light
Illuminating my inadequacy
Showing me, in starkest glare
All that I can never be

That is why I love to look upon your face
Yet why my eyes burn to do it
Stung as they are by the radiant vision
Of a beauty
Greater than what I even hope

For myself

It's unfair
To you
To project the burden of my pain
And my abounding tragedy
Onto your shoulders

It's not your fault
Nor your concern
For all you ever did was shine
Like a lily in morning sunlight, like a shimmering green sky in florid July
Like the realization of every mournful dream that's ever been tied to the moon or yearned for in the stars

You are everything I could ever wish
But never actually inhabit
The embodiment of what
Even at my height
I was but a crude shadow of

A blazing bright day with
Dirt under bare feet
And heat on
Shirtless arms

You will continue to beam
A pendant of virtue--real virtue, virtue that needs no declaration--and loveliness that in distress is still undimmed
While I will continue to wake
Each day
To the terror that is me

I love you
Or at least love what you are
I hate you
Or at least hate what I am
And I don't know what any of it will come to


laura b. said...

I hope I don't sounds flippant when I say this is kind of a cross between Shakespeare and Morrissey. I mean it in all the best ways!

secret agent woman said...

Hell of an inner conflict in that one.

Harley said...

Dilemma! And I hope this isn't a reflection of true feelings!

Madame DeFarge said...

I do wonder who the subject of these words is? Some of your words could describe all of us to some extent, so I admire the way you capture the truth of our lives.