There was no coming to it
or a moment in 7th grade
when something shifted
and the eyes began to turn
the everyone waiting, leaning in to hear what I said next
did next, chose next
that you are brighter. noticed. watched.
that is never welcomed with words
or clear thought, (no.. repelled),
but only that blood feeling of worth
of course I did not notice right away.
i just felt part of something. a community of good friends.
until the disparity was pointed out,
by those who knew nothing of attention or artificial light.
in teenage years where we discover
the length of our arms and the pitch
the strange village of school decides and you decide
who you are to be.
a man. behind the microphone.
mine, the house that fills
the phone that rings,
the after prom
those young hearts fire even then, that fight without words to be seen,
and then there are words,
and confuse friendship with an answer to their lonely pink hearts,
and offense is egg shell path,
and manipulate, just to have your attention,
and hurt you, just to have your attention,
and hurt themselves,
and all is carried in the fingers-crossed promise of youth
that this young kingship will not be the end...
but you, the one,
you did not ask,
but they will decide you did,
must live the stage and shape the vision they dream for them.
or else be a comforting conversation
in the years to come
'see, even he settled down, after all.'