Bad Boy

I want to kiss you              back

in time like we’re thirteen                braces

skinning      gums

                  captain crunch       in your backyard

your parent’s aren’t

home.

.

 

College hid us from the world like the library on East campus hid our bodies from the rain. Back then you used to feed me philosophy and spank me while I made you over seasoned eggs. We wanted to live in Porto and be musicians and living hand to mouth didn’t seem so bad. I remember a day when it rained so hard the whole campus smelled like rubber trees and you’d fallen off your bike a week ago. My ankle was sprained too, escaping from your bed in the night tripping over your roommate’s guitar and he was still mad about that. We took the bus, and didn’t speak to each other once. I stared across at you and it wasn’t a short ride and you didn’t ask me how I was or if I wanted to hang out later, you just got off.

It was all cool though because we didn’t have labels, and we were so fucking modern and Berlin and underground. I read the newspaper then ripped it into gray ribbons and let the compost embark on its peaty digestion. Coffee grounds went in there too, from the press of course, and I went back out to the veranda in my black turtleneck and your underwear because who cared anyways…

Sometimes you’d be out there too and a wave meant come on over lets talk and fuck and the crazy thing was that it wasn’t crazy and we weren’t even the most avant garde people we knew. You are the only person I’ve ever known who actually collected stamps, and it still kind of pisses me off that your hobby is more niche than any of mine.

And while we’re talking about what pisses us off, or me, really, because nothing ever seemed to bother you outside of your own head, you fucking hurt me. Why?

Remember when you got someone pregnant because your stupid free love games caught up with you? Remember how I didn’t care or judge you and I held you in that field while you cried your fucking soul out, and you wanted to give up and I told you to put your energy into your art? Then you calmed down and we went all over the neighborhood until it started to get light out again and looked at the houses, and I took you up into the woods to the watchtower and we were alone and we fucked up there too and everything was quiet and you were all better again? Do you know what the worst thing you ever did to me was?

You let your friends hate me. You let your parents bully me, and you told everyone I was the reason you were so sad inside. And you told me it was because you couldn’t face them or trust them to love you if they thought it was you and I understood and I leaned in for you. I let them watch me at the parties, asking themselves why you kept inviting me, predatorily snatching looks at me that made sure I understood, you are not safe here, we’d fuck you up if he wasn’t around. And it didn’t matter because you were my family.

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