My earliest memory is either getting hot water spilled on me off the stove or a runover cat in the middle of the road on the way to daycare;
I’m not sure which came first, but the effect is the same no less,
I knew pain and death before I realized what breath was.

Education makes us, and so the days I spent face buried in ancient texts twisted my perspective,
Married to the genuflecting of tradition and extremist socialization strata;
I’ve become a master of my passions,
It’s easy to sit on my own hands and not react to the boiling in the blood that makes me seek affection,
But with all chains come the same perplexion,
There’s a mutiny roiling somewhere in that shattered soul.

She remembers giggling in a bookstore and slow-dancing in a coffee shop,
Kissing under a bright moon on my birthday in a parking lot,
She fell in love with my bright demeanor before we broke the pattern,
And thinking back on it she still wishes it never happened;
So when she puts her hand on my chest and lingers,
It still puts me through the ringer,
And when I hug her goodbye, it still feels like a stinger pulled while sitting on the bench in the last two minutes for a second stringer.


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