yea it's been awhile.
here, as I watch you pass me by, holding your ever present loot bag, again I stand mouth wide open under storm cloud you on this hallow’s eve. it once again takes a moment to remember what I wanted to be this year. as it were, I couldn’t possibly have afforded a costume, anyway.
and just as gay children run down my street,
screaming “trick or treat” to strangers on their stoops, I wonder how odd that it takes the possibility of fear to open doors. I think I’ll turn off my lights and destroy the decorations in hopes that they won’t knock on mine.
it seemed to me better to fill a bowl with these treats
and place a little sign next to it. it pleads, “please, take one. there are many children out this night.” I hoped in my naivety that someone would listen. but I can see through my blinds that no one ever does. after the first child, the bowl is emptied
and the little sign is crushed and stained. I’m hidden in my house again. the rain still beats down on my tin can roof, but it is of no concern to me. I think I remember that I wanted to be you this year, just so I could maybe understand what runs through your mind as you knock on strangers’ doors. you always bring your own bag of treats,
and push the unassuming residents down on their knees, insisting, “eat this”. but your candy is always the kind that parents warn against. the kind without wrappers--the shady kind you get from scary old men
who place cold fingers on your shoulder and slowly open your clenched fist to place something unrecognizable in your palm. those men
that never say “happy Halloween”, but rather “you are so beautiful” and breathe heavily on your neck. what is the spirit of this holiday, anyhow? it’s bizarre, really; one time a year we choose to celebrate
the things that make us cry. I should have waited to let you know how your name makes me weep. remember the passion of Christ?
I think, “next year, I will be me for Halloween.” it will be frightening enough for all involved. perhaps-I wonder-you’ll run away when you see me open the door. that seems to be status quo here-not just on Halloween, but every day that I wished I realized just how to conceal my sensitivity to you.
and just as gay children run down my street,
screaming “trick or treat” to strangers on their stoops, I wonder how odd that it takes the possibility of fear to open doors. I think I’ll turn off my lights and destroy the decorations in hopes that they won’t knock on mine.
it seemed to me better to fill a bowl with these treats
and place a little sign next to it. it pleads, “please, take one. there are many children out this night.” I hoped in my naivety that someone would listen. but I can see through my blinds that no one ever does. after the first child, the bowl is emptied
and the little sign is crushed and stained. I’m hidden in my house again. the rain still beats down on my tin can roof, but it is of no concern to me. I think I remember that I wanted to be you this year, just so I could maybe understand what runs through your mind as you knock on strangers’ doors. you always bring your own bag of treats,
and push the unassuming residents down on their knees, insisting, “eat this”. but your candy is always the kind that parents warn against. the kind without wrappers--the shady kind you get from scary old men
who place cold fingers on your shoulder and slowly open your clenched fist to place something unrecognizable in your palm. those men
that never say “happy Halloween”, but rather “you are so beautiful” and breathe heavily on your neck. what is the spirit of this holiday, anyhow? it’s bizarre, really; one time a year we choose to celebrate
the things that make us cry. I should have waited to let you know how your name makes me weep. remember the passion of Christ?
I think, “next year, I will be me for Halloween.” it will be frightening enough for all involved. perhaps-I wonder-you’ll run away when you see me open the door. that seems to be status quo here-not just on Halloween, but every day that I wished I realized just how to conceal my sensitivity to you.