Lost Cavalier

An attempted poem for a boy that means more to people than he credits himself for. Even if he doesn't see it, I do.

I lay curled up in a ball- small and warm, 

Enclosed in a sheer blanket I found on the floor.

Rolling over I see him barely touching my toes,

Leaning one arm on his knee and the other stretched out

Giving one firm finger to the friend sitting across. 

I watch as the pair go back and forth,

But my eyes can only see him.

Short hair he swears needs cutting,

A beard a few days past a trim,

And a heartfelt smile and chuckle straight from his gut;

They all feel so familiar.

We've spent long nights talking, complaining.

Arguing over the monster he says he tries to hide,

The monster that I cannot see. 

For every positive I tell him

He says two even worse.

As I die to grab his hand

Or kiss the cheek that has bled far too often,

I know it would not phase him.

Though I do not see the monster,

I cannot ignore the vices holding his hand.

A cigarette dangling in one hand,

A beer dropped to his side

And a wild stare that sometimes even I don't recognize. 

On days I thought an eyelash would set him off

Or he disappeared without warning,

I learned to feel nothing-

To be still, be numb.

In this world where I take center stage,

Where the "I love you"'s are timid 

And the big bad dog looks scared...

Somehow it seems like I'm the one in the fishbowl. 

But at least I can sit up and hug the stranger by my foot,

Hold him for a little while and when I open my eyes

I finally see the same boy I knew not too long ago.

The curiosity in his eyes have matured to confusion;

He stares at me and wonders why I'm curled up behind him,

Tracing the back of his shirt and hugging his shoulder.

No questions are asked when I decide to lay beside him

And say nothing.

But I feel the warmth around my waist

And the smell I've grown to know

And pray the tempered hand I love to hold...

Will always hold me back.

Just for now.

A little while longer.

Author's Note

I wrote this with no planning, idea of what to say or even how to approach writing this. It's a little clunky and doesn't flow perfectly so any help refining is, as always, deeply appreciated and thanked.

Reviews

[Mark]

Seriously? you're only 16?... you write with depth, passion and an understanding well and truly beyond your years.. be this muse or true, that boy is lucky to know you, we all seek to be understood its a beautiful and rare thing when it happens..

thank you for sharing, I had no problem with flow, I was too captivated by the story

[A. Pike]

Thanks so much for taking the time to read it, it really means a lot. The entire poem is based on a real boy and though I wrote it on a whim, I think it's the best description of our relationship I could've given.