Little Boy Dreaming

When I was a boy, I wanted to grow up to be an astronaut. 

 

Never mind, that Math swum around my mind

 like the mush that passed for noodles in a can of Campbell’s Soup. 

 

Never mind, that physics constantly alluded me 

as gravity continued to break my dream of soaring

Tripping over my own two feet. 

 

Never mind, my legs were encased in plastic prisons,

destined to make them grow straight but also remind me

that I would never:

 

Feel Right

Move right

Outrun the bullies chasing me

 

When I was a boy, I wanted to grow up to be an astronaut. 

 

They say that space smells like a bouquet of hot metal, diesel fumes and barbecue. 

 

Not unlike the smell of poverty that I had borne witness to

As that virus stripped away 

the dreams of everyone around me

 

When I was a boy, I wanted to grow up to be an astronaut.

 

To touch the vast emptiness of space

and see the stars shine somewhere other

than in the deepest recesses of my mind. 

 

To know a space more infinite 

than the one inside myself 

 

That I filled with the comets 

and supernovas 

of anything 

that could make me feel it less

 

 

When I was a boy I wanted to grow up to be an astronaut.

 

Yet I became a man instead.

 

My spacewalks, 

these poems, 

My eyes grazing the gorgeous surface of the Earth away in clouds

 

 

My spacesuit, 

my voice, 

allowing me to navigate the galaxies between us

 

The Earth, 

your eyes, 

as I search the swirling colors 

reaching out to touch what lies within 

buried thousands of miles down 

under your atmosphere

broken expectations and empty promises. 

 

Would you like to go on a spacewalk with me, pretty lady?

 

I want to waltz in orbit to the tune of your rotation,

watching as the first light cascades

along  the mountains of your perfect curves

 

Trace the lines of your visible monuments with my fingertips

and watch as your rivers of laughter

cut the canyons of your laugh lines. 

 

Hold my breath as the hurricanes of your anxiety

reshape the coastline of your self confidence

only to reveal some deeper strength in  you. 

 

Dive headfirst into the deep rich lush green jungles of your creativity

and admire the stark desert of your convictions. 

 

Would you like to go on a spacewalk with me, pretty lady? 

 

We don’t need a rocket ship to find the stars, they are the twinkle in your eye

 when you look at me.

 

When I was a boy I wanted to grow up to be an astronaut.

 

And I met you.

 

And what d’ya know?

 

I got to be one.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Lovewhat

Fuaaaaaa....blindly it would be your lady!

Prepare the rocket and let's continue with our cosmic loveeeeee

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