A Letter to a Japanese Boy

I went to a dance one night on the Queen Mary in May where the ocean kissed the ship the same way the guests tip toed on deck that was adorned with pearl necklaces of lights as if they were supposed to light the way for the drunks and their laughter I remember my date had this soft melted caramel stare and a crooked smile that looked like an earthquake pirouetted under his nose He was a beautiful disaster who danced like thunder as if I was lightening; He kept chasing after something that didn’t want to be caught. I avoided his gaze as soon as I saw the impatient storm that was brewing inside him. I was always lukewarm with him when I knew he wanted something hot. He dragged me from hotel room to hotel room after the dance with people I didn’t know and drinks I didn’t want to touch I didn’t know the cup he kept refilling with liquid sanity was the void he was trying to close I followed his clumsy footsteps down the hall that sounded like a hiccup with each stride or more like a gasp for air since it seemed like heartbreak was making him suffocate He was drowning on a ship that didn’t even sail He didn’t tell me he paid for a night in a windowless cabin or that we’d be on a boat an hour and a half away from home but his hands did. They plucked at my dress straps the same way beggars ask for money and hope: desperately. He said I needed help as if ‘help’ is supposed to feel like all the danger your parents tried to protect you from Help is not a drunk Japanese boy trying to love by trying to undress Help is not lust when it’s mistaken for love especially at 3 in the morning I remember trying to find my voice and how I drew a blank. For an artist, I could never sketch but for a poet, I was finally at a loss for words. They say that vocabulary is a weapon but what happens when you’re at point blank? Silence is not golden if your innocence is priceless I turned around once I had ammo to fire but instead found a naked target He surrendered before there was even a foreplay of war and I thought I was the casualty To the Japanese boy that confessed his love through a slur of swearing, you made me afraid of skyscrapers when you sat me on the edge and taught me how powerful ‘No’ is when asked to jump There is nothing free about falling if it means your spirit is going to get killed To the Japanese boy that tried to take my dress off, you set me up and a fire alarm went off inside of me I was engulfed in flames when you tried to touch me and there is not enough water on this Earth to extinguish it I wish you would stop trying to make a burning house your home These ashes are the closest thing I have to what’s left of my sanity and I wish you burned with me At least then, you would know what hell would be like