Eye Contact

I’m feeling for it,
looking for the patterns in the light between the objects
something reminiscent of what used to be there
as if an old coke can
once stood proudly on the countertop
and now is

I’m staring through the air
through some sort of void
seeing your fear permeate the room
your unending hate for someone that you do not know
someone that you do not understand
it’s a black ink stain
disquieting the breeze made
by the air conditioning
and it smells like feet;

I see your color
rocketing through your crown
you think you cover your fear
by your blue jacket
but it is so deep inside you
no amount of polyester can prevent
disclosure of the truth

“suck my balls”
you say that
“suck my balls”
as if that would be the solution to your problem
as if someone with their lips around your sack
would create in you a sense of purpose
of fulfillment
of peace
of tranquility
as if it would calm the war that rages between your ears;

“fuck you, faggot.”
you say that
“fuck you, faggot.”
a sentence that reflects the hatred that you have boiling inside,
created from some kind of perceived slight;

I am so sorry that you feel that way
I hope that you,
one day,
will find peace enough within yourself
to make eye contact with another human being
and assume that they do not hold hatred for you.


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