There are boys who you will write poetry for as an offering a gift an insecure gesture, to say “Please like me, for I have gilded you in gold, and therefore you should love me for the sheer fact that I love you.” Then there are boys who demand poetry. Who keep you awake at all hours of the night, purging your brain of their details. Hoping you can capture them on a page and then capture them in the world. You are choking with his hand in your neck and his fist around your heart.
