Letters to the Two Queerdos I Have the Privilege of Calling My Best Friends

1. Pieces

We are,

in a word,

friends.

Six hands, three mouths, six eyes, one circle we’ll never break.

Six hands that make music,

fingers that waltz across piano keys,

across each other’s hair,

across game controllers,

to press on each other’s noses:

“Boop!”

Three mouths that shout

and sing pretty melodies

and make weird noises.

Six eyes (four of them brown)

to stare into each other’s eyes

to ask

“Are you okay?”

and

“What gender are you today?”

Six eyes (two of them blue)

to cry

when everything goes wrong

and the world crashes inward and falls

on our heads

and tears and crowns fall alike.

Six eyes (all of them true)

to captivate each other

to hold the world

to crinkle as we laugh and cry with laughter

because

the world is funny.

Six shoulders

sore from carrying backpacks full of pressure

shoulders

to be dysphoric about

too wide

not wide enough.

Six shoulders

we hate.

We love

each other.

Six shoulders, all strong enough

to cry on.

2. When I said ¨I Love You¨

You stood

openly.

Both of you.

Shoulders set,

facing me,

two pairs of soft brown eyes staring back at me.

the last “I love you” still hanging in the air

But one of you (the one who said it back)

“I love you too.”

all dark hair

and open arms,

you wear your body like a suit

your mother bought you

that doesn’t really fit.

And you, the other (the one who can’t say it)

“I don’t bond easily.”

Honey-blond curls,

soft flyaways give you a halo like the angel you are.

The angel who hasn’t said “I love you ” since last April

(honesty questionable)

You are shorter than the other,

and (today at least),

you wear your body like a favorite shirt.

You know the one,

worn smooth from years of washing,

fitting perfectly on the shoulders you hate so much,

the color faded but beautiful,

just like you.

Both of you.

Dear Both of You,

neither of you are who I thought you would be

and both of you are so beautiful.

One of you, seemingly hopeless, hair and eyes dark,

face turned downward,

though you stand open to me.

The other, seemingly hopeful, eyes brown, but a corona of gold adorns you,

your eyes turn upward,

open to everyone.

You stand,

both of you,

openly.

3. The Day I Knew I Loved You

You both sat on the swings,

laughing like children,

you are children.

Beautiful, beautiful children,

my children.

There is truly nothing more magnificent

than a head tipped back in laughter.

One of you covers his face,

hides his mouth,

covers his vulnerability.

The other opens their mouth to the world.

A mouth too wide for their face,

a laugh too big for their tiny little body

a joy that bursts from their sternum to fill the space around them

around me.

And I watch,

silently,

from the sidelines,

watching over you,

my hopeless protection covers you,

both of you.

all I can hear

is the obnoxious teasing

“Your feet don’t touch the ground!”

and see the retaliating glare

the shorter one

gives the taller,

and I can hear the resounding echo

of a love too deep for words.   

I watch over you.

Both of you.

 
This poem is about: 
Me

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