The Year of Me, the Boy, and God

The Year of Me, the Boy, and God




It’s your birthday.

I wish you a year of bubbly euphoria

and I can feel your grin against my lips.


We’re home alone.

Although my mother does not know that.

I’ve been telling her a lot of lies lately.


We are so in love.

My teenage heart feels as though it might overflow with how much I adore you

and that day I give you something of mine I can never get back.


I didn’t talk to God that day.




It’s my birthday.

You wish me a year of careless exuberance

and we can barely kiss because I am smiling too much.


We’re home alone,

although I can feel Divinity’s eyes gazing upon me.

I ignore them.


We are in love.

My teenage body feels as though it might burst into flames from how much I crave you

and that day you give me something that I thought I wanted.


I pushed away God that day.




Love fell to lust.

Tender flesh to bare skin.

Gentle hands to steely grips.

Delicate kisses to hidden bruises.


Romance became sex.

Cuddling became tangled sheets.

Celebrations became stripped congratulations.

Date night became “my parents aren’t home, come over”.


You were not “my love” and I was not your “darling”.

You were a body, and I was a body

and we ceased to care how the other felt.

I didn’t even think about God.




It’s just a day.

I wish you would stop playing the music so loud when you drove

and you wish I would take my feet off the dash.


We are alone

because that is how we are used to being. 

I don’t remember the last time we talked to our other friends. 


We are bored.

So you pull over and we do what we had developed a habit of

but I can feel the exhaustion in the way that you hold me and I wonder if you tasted the salt of my tears.


I told God I was sorry that day.




It’s our anniversary.

And I thank you for the best year of my life

and you smile at me the way you do.


We are alone.

So we take the opportunity to dance around your kitchen while we make pasta

and it is the happiest I had felt in a while.


I am in love with you.

I try and show you in the way I say your name and how softly I touch you.

We lay in bed together, without tears or regrets.


I thank God for you.




We fall apart.


Too corrosive.

Too controlling.

Too regretful.

Too unstable.


Too late.


I plead with God to repair the shredded and gnarled strings of my heart.



I miss you.


God knows.




Am I ever going to stop dreaming about you?


God stays silent on that one.




It is a new day.

I wake up feeling like I might be okay

and I let this thought drag me out of my slum of heartache.


I am alone.

Although I can feel Divinity’s eyes gazing upon me.

I weep at the warmth. 


I surrender to God that day.














Something about winter’s arrival makes my heart ache for you.

Perhaps it is because last November I had you to keep me warm.


I shatter.


God stays.




I understand.


God was right in taking you away from me.


January 2017


It is your birthday.

I text you that I wish you a better year

and I wait three hours for your two word reply.


This poem is about: 


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