Free Form


Listen, I don’t want to go. I’ve been having so much fun, and I don’t want to leave just like that. But I have to. It’s getting late. I have homework I should start. Of course I’m not going to any parties. But still, it’s getting dark out.

And it’s raining.

But out the door I shall go with one last “Bye” and “You’re a dick”. It’s been lovely. Really. I’d love to come by more often to see you and I’d love it if you talked to me more. But for now I guess it’s fare well.

Out into the cruel world, where the darkness of the night means danger, means terror, and not the kind that sleep under the bed. Even they wouldn’t come out in this weather.

First minutes out the door, and I’m already soaked. I’m running down the hill, into Campus Center even though my trip will take that much longer. I guess I just hate the rain.

Or maybe I hate that I’m uncomfortable. Maybe it’s how soaked my jacket is, and how my laptop is surely waterlogged. How I regret leaving in the first place.

It’s probably best I left, though. I mean, maybe my timing was wrong. He did say you seemed like you wanted a friend and some release. It’s weird, I get it. Trust me, I’m awkward as hell, too.

But enough about that, it’s time to go back into the rain. The rain that, as a whole, can change a course of action, causing a person to stray so far from their intended destination. The rain can hold you back, in your shell of a house, if you don’t know how to deal with it. And even though that rain is an incredible force, the rain is not one singular thing. The rain is individual droplets, driving a whole, splattering on your glasses as you walk home, or dampening your phone making it impossible to move on.

I like to think the rain is like memories, raining down on you. And when it rains, it pours to remind you of things that you have done, things others have done onto you.

Like that first love, who left you.

Like that first death, that joined the others in eternity

Everything, reflected in each, single droplet. Raining down on you. Drowning you in grief and happiness.

A downpour of memories.

And now I’m home. And I guess I’m a bit more wiser. I still didn’t want to leave. I want to go back to you.

But all I can say for now,
is next time,
bring an umbrella.



Queer is… (Negative)

When you are five
it might be the name of
the monster under your bed
or maybe
the way kids look at you funny.

at age twelve
It might be the boogie man
watching you from your closet.
Or maybe
it’s the same kids in the locker room
talking about you.

now you are 15,
it might be a movie,
like Saw or Scream,
Or maybe
it’s the teachers
who refuse to see
how broken you are.

age 20,
it is the feeling of alone
No family.
No friends.
No life.

age 21,
is the reaper coming
in the form of three guys
at a bar
coming at you with knives
or maybe
it’s yourself
already disconnected from life.

the flowers that the people who loved you
leave for you.
Your mother, watching the days
knowing you won’t be back.
Your father, looking at the football
and regretting calling you
a fag when you refused to play.
Your sister, hugging her pillow every night
wishing you were there instead.
Your brother, keeping everything inside
bottled up because
He doesn’t want to end up like you.
Your best friend, who keeps looking at their phone
but knows
you won’t text
or call.
Or be there at all.