Poem: Scars/To the new boyfriend

Scars/To the new boyfriend

By Rudy Francisco

 

One. If I could, I would nail these hands to the edges of the stars. 

I would sacrifice this body to the sky 

hoping to resurrect as someone spiteful enough 

to not care about you anymore.

Two. Staple me to a cross, pierce my side with a broken promise 

and I will bleed all the crippled reasons why you deserve one more chance.

Three. Loving you was the last thing that I felt really good at.

Four. You wanna know how I got these scars? 

See I ripped every last piece of you out of my smile.

Five. I whispered you stardust.

Six. I spoke you into sunflowers.

Seven. I dipped my hands in forever, I touched you infinity. 

I treated you as if you were the last molecule of oxygen inside of a gas chamber. 

I was good to you.

Eight. You wanna know how I got these scars? 

See, I swallowed my pride and then it clawed its way out of my mouth.

Nine. I realize that I was never really your boyfriend, 

I was just your fucking hype-man.

Ten. I hope your next boyfriend gets smallpox.

Ten. Yes I said smallpox.

Ten. I hate you.

Ten. But I still miss you.

Ten. And a part of me still loves you.

Ten. I have this hard time counting when I get emotional.

Ten. I heard that over 90% of human interaction is non-verbal, so…

Ten. If could I could I would tie your arms to a daydream 

and auction you off to my fondest memories.

To the random dude who started dating my ex-girlfriend two days after we broke up. Yes, I saw that shit on facebook.

Now when I realized that you were in a relationship with the girl that I thought I would someday spend the rest of my life with.

I walked outside I said to myself there’s no way Ashton Kusher is gonna catch me off guard. I waited 45 minutes and then I realized that there hasn’t been a new episode of punk’d in damn near four years. So I guess I’m the only practical joke in this entire situation.

One. The first time I saw you and her in a picture 

I wanted to take my entire arm and shove it inside in the computer 

and snatched the happiness right off of your face.

Two. If I ever see you in the street, 

I’m probably gonna punch you in the throat.

Three. I apologize in advanced, and I know, 

I know that it makes no sense 

to have this much anger toward a man that I never actually met face to face, 

but my definition of love is been robbed in an alley eight times in a row 

 and hoping there is something about today that makes all of this different. 

There is nothing logical about cutting up the most important parts of yourself 

and then putting them inside the hands 

that shake, that tremble, that crack like a Haitian sidewalk.

Four. There is nothing rational about love. 

Your love stutters when it gets nervous, 

your love trips over on its own shoelaces, 

love is clumsy and my heart refuses to wear a helmet.

Five. Cupid is fucking irresponsible, 

and I’m tired of him using me for target practice

Six. I was told that time would heal all wound 

but what exactly do you do on days 

when it feels like the hands on your clock have arthritis.    

Seven. She always wore her heart on her sleeve, 

so tell me why the hell do you look so familiar?

Eight. I think I’ve seen you somewhere in her smile,

 like I’ve heard your voice in her laughter, 

like I’ve smelled your cologne on her thighs. 

I bet if we dusted her heart for fingerprints 

we would only find yours.

Nine. I have this enveloped it’s full of all the butterflies 

that I felt the first time she relaxed the velcro on her lips 
and smile in my direction. 

I think most of them are still alive 

I guess this belong to you, too.

 PS: Les pongo la traducción de este poema en la siguiente entrada, disfruten n.n