(crossposted to instagram on august 11, 2019)
my body and i are not on speaking terms. last night i dreamt of the sharp pinch of a needle and woke up gasping, hand to my heart—as if this becoming could be crushed, as if my name wasn’t already a prayer. every morning i force my skin on but someday i’ll have two pink scars on my chest and i won’t have to catch my breath. don’t call me boy. call me holy. call me divine. call me the constant churn of something yet to come. --my guardian angel’s on testosterone by nathan l.
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(crossposted to instagram august 7, 2019)
transcript: it’s august and summer settles heavy on the sidewalk. eight weeks since i last exhaled and the sky is none the wiser. eight weeks and no one really knows me. i want to be as tender as the moon but i think i’ll have to settle for the streetlamps instead. like water steaming off the asphalt. like brown hills in the hazy air. hozier made me cry in the car the other day and i’ve been thinking a lot about loving at the end of the world. that’s it, i think. to be loved. to be found. to be known. that’s all. —untitled, by nathan l. (crossposted on instagram on august 19, 2019 for a collab with @sharkfinpoet)
things you said under the stars and in the grass by nathan l. do you ever think about the end of the world? sometimes. why? i do. just. it seems impossible to think one day this is all going to be gone. that we’re the last generation to see the stars. yeah. exactly. i try not to think about it. me too. nights like this i can pretend, though. the dark is just velvet enough for me to believe we’re indestructible. seems like it’s something in the night breeze. yeah. the sky just after sunset. the very first star emerging from the infinite blue. like time seems like it could stretch into forever. very poetic. thanks. i try. … what are you thinking about? the heat death of the universe. … what are you thinking about? you. (crossposted to instagram august 16, 2019)
by nathan l. dear god, tonight i am blood-soaked, half-boy, half-bird, all rose petals, red wine, never holy. i come to you breathless, draped in moonlight and mourning. the things i have seen, god. tell me, when will this bloodshed end? it is hard to believe anyone is watching over us in these wrenching times. lord, tell me it gets better. tell me the sun will rise and the stars will come out of the blackness. tell me we’ll learn to love again. tell me. are you still here? —amen bloodied statues & hydrogen
by nathan l. we are all made of stardust. there are nebulas in my veins, which is to say this body is breath & marble & i am my own sculptor. there is a supernova in my chest, which is to say i’m afraid i love too much, that my heart is colossal & brightly yearning. i am not so much a boy than a remnant of the big bang. just bloodied statues & hydrogen. see, the universe is forever expanding and i too with it. (crossposted to instagram july 15, 2019)
transcript: murmuration by nathan l. this is a poem for becoming / for growing / for straining towards the sun / like so many flowers blooming at once. // tell me we’re more than these paper bodies / these sun-bleached sidewalks / these bad habits we can’t shake. // i want to be the sweeping sky / the whisper of the wind in the trees / all the constellations aching at once. // i want to be a thousand starlings taking flight / all wings / & longing / & freedom. (crossposted to instagram july 31, 2019)
transcript: july, july by nathan l. in another universe / july glints off the river. / maybe we unfurl in the afternoon sunlight / the heat not crushing but nectarine-sweet. // we let the water wash over us like a baptism / & forget the things we have done to ourselves. // imagine us tender / softer / kinder than we ever could have been. // here, the world is fern-green and golden / and there is love so full / our hearts ache. // (crossposted to instagram june 29, 2019.)
transcript: ichor by nathan l. the gods bleed golden liquid sunlight leaking out of their forever veins decades slipping through their fingers like water centuries discarded by the feet of colossal thrones millennia stretching into the horizon we rise and we fall and we bleed they have seen eons fly by as fast as you can snap your fingers there is never enough time we say and the gods laugh –who said immortality was a gift? (crossposted on instagram on august 5, 2019)
transcript: exit wounds by nathan l. the gun goes off in a walmart at a food festival in a high school thoughts and prayers and the gun goes off in a theater at a university in a club and the gun goes off like fireworks, like the fourth of july. code red, white, and fucking blue. home of the free land of the bravery shouldn’t have to be existence. every time i walk into a building i look for the exit wounds that we cannot heal. exit wounds like bullets lodged in our teeth in our lungs in our throat exit wounds like candlelight vigils. like the fire alarm screams and the gun goes off. how many more? (cross-posted to instagram on june 10, 2019)
self care by nathan l. i am still learning how to be gentle. i want to hold these thunderstorm heartbeats, let the wind and rain smooth out my edges. i'll tell my body let's be friends, wear this skin into something like home. one day i want to breathe easy again. i'll plant daisies in my soul and watch them bloom. |
AuthorNathan Lee's poetry and prose. More of my work can be found on my Instagram. Archives
March 2020
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