Forgive me.
I can’t pray tonight.
Today, I am stealing
another boy’s teeth.
Today, I chisel my knuckles
with the cut of his jaw. I
carve myself into a beast.
Better a beast than a question—
Our naked bodies, licked brown
by July, demand a privacy
our manhood relies on. When
the breath becomes trapped in the soft
of my throat and my eyes yield
to seconds that belong to someone
beyond our hood, he recognizes evil
and names it. Forgive me.
I can’t pray tonight.
Today, I hear my name
in another boy’s mouth.
Today, I let my lips tremble
wet and I know
the only way out will be
as someone else entirely.
Better a man than a whisper—
Together we bloody ourselves
awake. We let our eyes burn
and swell. We beat each other into
something familiar. Something
our fathers can recognize
well enough to punish.
I/did/n’t/raise/you/to/be/a/fight/er
Each syllable marries a swing of his belt.
Beats my swelling body back into a boy.
Better a boy than the wrong shade of red—
And I should be happy to have this
many undoings. To be remade again
and again, forgive me.
I can’t pray tonight.
Today, my body belongs
to everyone else.
Today, I am in search
of any voice
softer than my own--
My naked body, bruised blue
by the smallest light reaching
hopelessly through the bathroom
window, shudders at the mess
of my hands as I pry another
boy’s teeth from my flesh.
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