Untitled–Inspired by the youth at BNV
Posted by Justin Reilly | Filed under Poetry, Print
Relationships are fickle
like rainclouds
or hail storms
There’s always a 30% chance for tears
or rain
or lightening
Always a chance this clear Sunday morning
will become the calm before the storm
When I was a kid
I saw the sky turn purple
before the twister hit
funny
The color of nobility
would crown the sky
before it unleashed
some type of ugly step sister
an offspring unfit for the throne
and we
we never ran in the opposite direction
we see storms on the horizon
color blind and fearless
and freeze
retreat behind my rib cage
castled walled flesh
never seemed so safe
but it gets crowded in here
there is barely enough room for
both of us
amongst my organs
but if you get tired
ill let you use my heart as a pillow
the lining in my stomach as an electric blanket
and my lungs as an oxygen tank
so i guess you could say
we cuddle like anatomy does
or like cancer patients
wish they could
if they had the appetite for it
Have you ever seen an abdomen
implode
an organ begin to eat itself
because we self destruct like stomachs do
like cannibalistic self portraits
or mushroom cloud dreams
like poets do
Shooting Straight
Posted by Justin Reilly | Filed under '09 Spring: Dream of a Ridiculous Man, Poetry, Print, Show Poems
So I’m straight
Everyone here knows I date black girls
I eat red meat
Play basketball
And never talk about balls unless I am referring to the ones I put in the basket
Oh and when I am playing that game where u get other guys to look at ur balls
Then make them bend over and u kick them in the ass and call em fag
You know the game everyone learned how to play from that movie Waiting
Yeah I am pretty much your typical straight kid
Oh but what’s with dudes looking at you when ur in the shower
That shits gay
And so is that shirt ‘your wearing’ (dude in the front row)
And those shoes josh has on
Them shits r str8 homo
Dear Straight men,
You don’t always have to run from hugs
They aren’t dream catchers of your masculinity
That slowly drain your manhood as you sleep
I promise
Your brothers arms are not sleeves to a straight jacket
That suffocate your unwillingness to be sensitive
You won’t wake up the next morning
Drowsy with a fragmented memory of emasculation and shame
And if you shed a tear
You won’t drown
one Sunday morning in an affinity
For blonde haired men and know Jude Law is the only man that really could steal your heart
And even if this was possible
Maybe just maybe
Your would understand
That love does not know gender
It does not know limits
It only knows heat
The sweltering breath exchanged by two lovers
That only emerges when 2 souls finally connect
Forget about everything
And lay naked
Just so their Prop 8 sanctioned wardrobe won’t get in the way
Stop calling things gay
Ignorance is not bliss
Or chanting no homo
After every Freudian slip
Just because you are too insecure to admit
That every time you get in the shower you are worried about whose bigger than you
Quit acting like men
are flirting with you when they ask you for the time
Straight women don’t want to get with you
What makes you think gay men are any different
Intolerance is unattractive
And those prejudicial handshakes aren’t getting you laid anytime soon
Dear gay men,
Stay strong
Stay hungry
Stay passionate
You see
I’ve got love
For love
Any man, man enough to fight for someone
He loves
knows that life
With all its beauty and splendor
Is worth nothing
If you have not found something to die for
And I know
The day will come
When you can just blend in
Walk hand in hand in the busiest of parks
And kiss at the perfect time when the sun is barely peeking through the trees
Hallmark will make anniversary cards with this image not just printed
But branded on the front cover
Next to the word Perfection
And I’ll smile
Because I know that the true meaning of equality
Is the ability to fail miserably like the majority
The freedom of my best friend to marry the wrong man
Forgo marriage counseling
Get a divorce
And have everyone giving him shit for not leaving him sooner
Not for marrying a man in the first place
Dear somewhere in the grey area men,
Take your time
Revel in the very idea the unknown
And keep ‘em guessing
Because you know as well as I do
Watching them scratch there heads as you pass
Is a humble victory in it self
And I hope when you do find love
You will shout at the top of your lungs
Fuck a closet
Stand on a roof top
Inhale the anticipation
And exhale the beauty
That on this day
They can’t touch you
Even though you and I both know
They have never be able to
And we’ll smile
Knowing this is just beginning of a struggle
but we will embrace it
etch LOVE on our knuckles
knowing that we will not go quietly
we will not go passively and if they can’t except that
we will brand their hearts with our fists
and then kiss their foreheads
to show them that tough love does still exist in our world
and we won’t give up on them
because a wise man once told me to turn the other cheek
let them know we have no problem taking their lashes
because
battle wounds are sexy
and these men hold no weight in our world
ill leave you with this
smile at their snares
and wave back at their bigotry
because at the end of the day
there is nothing more beautiful than an unaffected smile
on a lover at midday
when sun is perfectly set in the sky
and no one can else can touch you
but then again
you and I both know
they never could
A Love Letter to Black Girls
Posted by Justin Reilly | Filed under '08 Fall: Notes from Underground, Poetry, Print, Show Poems
So I date black girls..
and everyone who falls in between ebony & ivory
I love hair Straight, wavy, and curly like Ivy
I guess you could say im a dog
because im color blind like Lasey
and where i’m from
we bark at anythang
with parashaped hips
and that ‘mmm Oh Jesus’ flavor of lip gloss on your lips
we would spend hours
quoting old Biggie tracks
and working on punch lines
just waiting for school to let out
but here
I’m supposed to have a type
5′7”
blond hair
blue eyes
can’t dance
doesn’t eat
oh and she thinks my poetry is ‘nice’
shed rather drink than talk
gossip than walk
and she cant chew gum and do either
I Ken
She Barbie
commanding the road on the way to the playhouse
but i never played with dolls when i was a kid
based on these hives
i think I’m allergic to plastic
and I used to write for hours
about that ebony girl who sat in from of me
outlining her curls
with 5th grade metaphors
and naïve
sentence structure
you see white kids
are supposed to sit in the front of the class
but I gotta tell ya
‘the back of her head was ridiculous’
and I just enjoyed the smell of her hair
somehow
I knew all that scribbling would pay off
you see I learned at an early age
that coloring in between the lines
was only taught
to hinder my creativity
I never found comfort
In coloring books
Etching conformity into my veins
Just so miss Jones wouldn’t
Check my pulse
I would flat line in art class
I guess I thought
It was just a waste of my time
Assigning names and colors
Like Adam
But this is no Eden
b/c clearly Eve was
a feminine mirror image of her husband
and that just doesn’t work for us
they wouldn’t even dare
to crucify us
side by side
on the same color wheel
fearing we might bleed together
and I hate to break it to you
but Jesus didn’t look like me
laying helpless
hoping you stain my hands
watching colorless
blood cells drip
to count hours instead of sands
I just wish I could freeze time
We are in a black n white film
Mouthing affection
Smiling as the wind blows
Wishfully hoping for the depression to end
Living in speak-easy dreams
Drinking red wine in prohibition
And playing charades
With our words
We were rebels
Even in a time
When we knew boundaries
Were the difference between life or death
You could find us laying in the graveyard
Mean mugging the stars
And cursing the gods
For not making us the same
Sadly we were only
comforted
when the sun and moon made love
Even though we were told
Wed go blind
If we looked directly into
The eclipsed moonlight
They were worried we might
Find enlightenment in the stars
We would color in our existence
And try to paint our love
within a tattered stencil
Trying hard to be different
And wish
We could roll around in the mix
Just long enough
To let the paint dry
And I feel like an artist
With no brush
Desperately trying to finger paint a
Tragedy in the dust
You will never be able to color in our ashes
You see
There’s no right way
To color
And no right way
To kiss you in public
Because its too much for them to stomach
So here
Is sum Pepto-Bismol
To easy ur fears
gargle ur bigotry
spit out your sickness
because I don’t have time
to worry about your insecurities
I have a master piece to finish
My Mother
Posted by Justin Reilly | Filed under Poetry, Print
My mother
She’s like Oprah without all the cameras and fake car give-a-ways
Like shed give you marital advice and never ask you to plug her book afterwards
She’s Mother Teresa with a little more swag
I’m thoroughly convinced shed give a stranger the clothes off
her back and feel no shame walking home naked
She’s Betty Crocker with just a little more spunk
You know the kinda women you always want on your side
When Ur the kid who just beat up the superintendent of Jersey Public
Schools son
Yea my mother is not only Satan’s arch enemy
She’s a super hero
Equipped with super sonic hearing
Crazy balance and about 4 to 5 arms
And a heart full of enough compassion to heal
Any sorrows a wanderer like me has ever had
I’ve seen her drive a big-body suburban with one her knee
While checking the directions
Feeding my younger brother
And still managing to knock me upside the head for messing with my
sister
To be serious though
I’ve never someone so beautiful in my life
An old painters definition of beauty
“the sum of parts put together in such a way that nothing need be
added, taken away, or altered”
That is my mother…beauty incarnate
Someone who can be Ur best friend
Your biggest critic
And still make a mean and I mean mean meatloaf to ease any anxiety that
you may still be having during day
My mother
Is wing clipped angel, earthbound just so a few of us
Never forget what it felt like hours before conception
When we were playing hopscotch on the golden bricks of heaven
She is a daily reminder of why we reach for the sky
And swallow star dust in our vocal cords
Gods way of saying
the simplest pleasures in life
Can be found in subtle southern accent, a heart felt laugh,
And a smile
That would have converted Saul on the spot
She is the reason why young men like me
Bask in the ambience of their female counterpart
And cherish every moment we are allowed to stare into your eyes
Just hoping to see a little bit of our mothers deep down inside your soul
So I can tap dance, or two step, whatever little jig the kids do these days
Until the sun goes down
And we are left in the star gazed glance of a mother
Who always knew we would make something of ourselves
And yet never let us forget that no matter
how tall we got
Or how deep our pockets ran
Or how colossal our name
She will always be there to remind us of
where we came from
And how we got here
So when they call me a momma’s boy
I chuckle
Raise my eyes and reply
Wouldn’t it be nice
If we were all so fortunate
