I want you back in my bed

I want you back in my bed,
slithering over the covers of my duvet,
slinking closer to kiss and caress me

I want you back in my bed,
writhing and moaning underneath me,
a gasping hot mess,
a volcano about to blow

I want you back in my bed,
your arms twined around me,
your head resting on my chest

I miss being in the same bed,
the sheets mussed,
our closeness almost uncomfortable
like a stitch in my side

I want to be back in the same house as you,
laughing, watching anime, and eating popcorn
spooning on the large sectional

M.B.B.
5/7/2020

The Boys of Hood Hall

Jude &
JB &
Willem &
& Malcolm.

You are a found family of Peter Pan’s
a brotherhood built from the ground up in Hood Hall,
friends through shithole apartments
& ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends,
starting at the bottom of the law firm/art/architecture/film ladder
& working your way up to the top floor
to push your way out onto the roof
standing side-by-side, fists raised in triumphant

You boys have consumed me with your
houses, art openings, films, & your presence in the court room.

I love you all & hope you’re doing well.

I miss you all.

M.B.B.
7/18/17
edited & expanded on 5/5/2020

Dear Justin

Dear Justin,

Thank you for your hug at my first Blue show. Thank you for signing my copy of An Open Book. It still means a lot to me. It was very sweet of you to hug me.

You’re one of the coolest and sweetest guys I know. I love your music because it’s helped me understand my depression and anxiety over the years. I love your music because you continue to lift me up daily. Your lyrics are insightful, powerful, and poetic. 

Continue reading “Dear Justin”

Ravensong (Green Creek # 2)

Gordo Livingstone may be the witch for the Bennett pack, but he never forgot the lessons that were carved into his skin.

Hardened by the betrayal of the wolves, he finds solace working in the body shop that he owns, working alongside his best friends. It should’ve been enough. When the wolves return, with Mark Bennett among them, they take down a monster together as a pack and win. A year later, Gordo finds himself once again the witch of the Bennett pack. He’s also struggling to ignore Mark and the wolfsong howling between them.

Continue reading “Ravensong (Green Creek # 2)”

Piano Keystrokes

I play keystrokes like some play the piano.

I plink out words, which are my melodies.

I move with the flow of words.

My song flows out of my wrists like a rushing river.

My left and right-hand move in synchronized ballet, each lifting and falling on their tippy toes.

Some people play the piano; I play with the click and clack of words on a keyboard.

M.B.B.
5/4/2020

Note: the image I used comes from Wallpaper Cave.

Dogs are too Good for Us

Dogs are too good for us. They love us unconditionally, a sign of undying love in their licks and tail wags, whether we leave for a day or five minutes (and then come back). In heaven, it should be filled with tennis balls, treats to eat, and fluffy clouds to sleep on.

Dogs are too good for us. We don’t deserve their sweet, soft hazel-chocolate gazes. They love exercise; walks are the best thing ever. I love her soft little ears, her button black nose. I love how Charlie curls up on her soft bed, how she woofs softly in her dreams.

Dogs are too good for us. We don’t deserve their friendship; they are our hiking buddies, our companions as we eat, sleep, and wash dishes. Dogs are our comforters when cry and when we cheer.

Dogs are just too good for us.

M.B.B.
5/2/2020

Note: inspired by a conversation with a friend.

Oh My My

Blue October has released a new single.

“Oh My My” is a narrative song about falling in love with someone. It’s catchy, fun, and cheerful. The speaker is a guy who has been struck dumb by the sight of a sad, but pretty, woman. He’s a “sucker for your oh my my”, her dangerous side, and promises to catch her when she falls. He hopes that she’ll return the favor.

I’m excited for Blue October’s new album What I Live For to drop. I love when they come out with new music!

Dear Willem

You compiled my life for me—
a spreading accordion of file folders labeled Jude I Jude II Jude III Jude IV bursting with awards, photos, certificates, love letters, JB’s art, & my legal documents

With you,
you shone like the Sun,
brightening the white-washed walls of our apartment

Your jumper cable arms
wound around me kept me safe
from the snarling dogs of my mental illness

I’m in denial.
I’m hardly living
in this hollowed-out shell of an apartment we called home
I’m a zombified shell of a man, wandering, without you

Why didn’t I just retire?
Why didn’t I just grit my teeth & endure sex?
Why didn’t I become a kept man
like you said, so we could travel together?
I’d cook for you,
I’d sing to you,
I’d hold you close.

I know why: Because I thought my work was my fucking life, my fingerprint on the world
I should’ve made more time for you
I should’ve stockpiled the sound of your voice,
the sandalwood perfume you wear,
& have a chemist bottle your very essence in a jar
I should’ve recorded our conversations,
snapped more pictures,
taken more videos of our life—
thirty-fucking-four years—together

I should’ve cared less about my crystalized past & cared more about the love you showed me in pointing out the monarch butterfly’s wings
I should’ve cared more about your mantra: I am Williem Ragnerson & I will never let you go

I should’ve counted my blessings:
my adoptive parents
my talented friends
rather than believe the lies my abusers told me
but their words leave their scars on my forearms

I should’ve asked for help.
I should’ve ignored the shit my fucked-up head told me,
but the hyenas keep skulking in the trees.
I should’ve realized that you give me a quiet mind

If I had to do it all over again,
I’d stop cutting earlier
I’d re-learn how to love myself
I’d go to therapy for all the abuse I suffered
I’d learn how to mistrust that little voice in my head
I’d listen to Andy, Harold, Julia, JB, Malcolm, & most of all you—
Willem, you cared more about me living than I ever did

I hope the shoot is going well
I miss you so much

Love,
Jude

M.B.B.
9/18/17
edited 5/1/2020

Note: italicized pieces are from A Little Life & Blue October’s “A Quiet Mind,” respectively. Other references to A Little Life are un-italicized.

Hold onto Me

Note: This is not a personal poem.

You keep me sane amid the winter’s bite,
in between raised webs of scar tissue
& sticky streams of blood

You keep me warm in this drafty room,
using your tender kisses
& your fierce hold on me to blot out the chill—
the muscles of your biceps & triceps
knotting, bunching, & jumping like cable wiring
while I shiver, shrouded, in our cotton bedsheets

You weigh me down like a stone,
even when I struggle
to slip out from under you,
like popping to the riverbed’s surface to gasp for air

You keep me sane in the winter of my mental disorder,
restraining me from the black-blue bruise of evening
to the pink-cheeked flush of morning
fighting your drooping eyes,
fighting me
& my itch to drag a razor across my forearms,
my desire to make my tributary veins weep rubies

M.B.B.
4/30/2020

Note: Jude to Willem, two characters from Hanya Yangihara’s A Little Life. Self-harm is a very serious subject, one I do not condone. If you or anyone you know is going through a rough time because of the Corona virus or something else, please seek help. You are not alone in this. This poem is a sign of Willem’s ability to help his boyfriend through rough times, particularly the trauma he suffered from when he was first a boy, and then a teenager.

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

Dear Ma,

I am writing to reach you–even if each word I put down is one word further from where you are.

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong, pg. 3.

Little Dog is writing letters to his mother who is illiterate. He writes to go back to places that he remembers through memory, which “is a choice” (pg. 75). Memories he writes about include his birthplace in Vietnam, how his grandmother and mother survived death in such a war-torn country. Little Dog writes about experiencing homophobia, his first love–a boy named Trevor–his past, and his family.

Continue reading “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous”

a kiss for the robins

on our walk, with snow squeaking underfoot,
we pass a yard adorned with a hopping robin.

“do you know what you do when you see a robin?
dad told me,” my sister tells me.

you kiss your thumb,
then tap your hands together.

I practice the motion of my grandmother:
I kiss my thumb, then bump my fists.

a kiss for a robin.

M.B.B.
4/14/2020

if I lost you

if I lost you,
I’d bury myself to the waist in sand
alive on the outside, a draining hourglass on the inside
I’d ink a little sailboat on the inside of my wrist
I’d miss your meals of party pizza and pizza rolls
I’d miss hearing all of your “boops” instead of “goodbyes”
I’d miss your narration as you gamed
I’d miss your laughs, the leg-jiggle in your voice
If I lost you,
I’d wail with the sirens of police cars,
I’d cry Alice a new river at the sight of anything red, your favorite color
if I lost you,
I’d scream myself hoarse,
my face smothered beneath my pillow
if I lost you,
I’d cry Alice a new river
you’d still be my North, though,
when I’d stumble South

M.B.B.
4/13/2020