Untitled Poem by Matthew
In the city, you can only see a fraction of the stars in the sky.
Tiny lights of taxi cabs and street signs drown out most stars,
though they’re dying just the same.
This is my coming out letter,
my bread and butter, my morning coffee.
In this classroom,
I sit front row.
You can look for me on this week’s pop quiz,
bonus points if you can guess what’s between my legs.
I wish we were five, when we didn’t have to close our eyes to play in the same sandbox.
Born into a cage, this chamber is loaded, let this bird fly.
My skin does not fit well.
I am your thesis, hello, you’ve found me. Write me down.
If you struck a matchbox and your flam didn’t light,
would you try the other side?
If a semicolon were a street in a neighborhood of colons,
where would it be?
From ten stories up, the fifth floor doesn’t look so bad.
When I burn, I will burn bright,
and even the city lights won’t mask my star’s rebirth,
even if it takes lightyears to get there.
Notes
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