my lovers
the screen sings to me
it holds a million loves
even though I share them they feel like mine alone.
I can see myself
reflected in their eyes
(it's easy
with so many closeups)
the lovers' gazes
the strength in the heroes' stares
the shuttered look
in the eyes of the antiheroes
I sit alone
swooning
they hold a little mirror
up to me
and gratefully I fall in love
with him-her-me
for the three hundredth time.
their struggles gleam in silver and starry white
I weep for them
honeyed tears
feeding this hungry voyeur
in a mundane famine
the thrill in my breath
the choke in my throat
the burn in my chest
the clench in my hands
I don't know how I'd be
if I couldn't gulp
great gouts of emotion
in chunks of minutes hours
I might starve
these fingers would feel so empty
without shadow-loves to try
and fail
to touch.
a heartbeat sounds so
thin and pale
when it beats alone.
I don't know who I'd be
I don't know what I'd be
if I held up the mirror
and saw reflected
only black.
----------------------------
I saw X-Men: First Class last night. It fucking ruled. And I want to make Magneto my woobie and by God do I want to read angsty manly respectful tortured slashfic about the love that can never be between Xavier and Magneto. And boy, this is a pattern, now isn't it?
It may have been years since I was truly involved in a fandom, but I'll always think fondly on it... and I'll always, always be a fan who weaves characters' life-stories into my own
How well does this poem convey the above? Do those of you in similar head-spaces understand what I was trying to say -- or conversely, were you beat over the head with it? Let me know :) I'm very bad at symbolism so let me know if that held true.
it holds a million loves
even though I share them they feel like mine alone.
I can see myself
reflected in their eyes
(it's easy
with so many closeups)
the lovers' gazes
the strength in the heroes' stares
the shuttered look
in the eyes of the antiheroes
I sit alone
swooning
they hold a little mirror
up to me
and gratefully I fall in love
with him-her-me
for the three hundredth time.
their struggles gleam in silver and starry white
I weep for them
honeyed tears
feeding this hungry voyeur
in a mundane famine
the thrill in my breath
the choke in my throat
the burn in my chest
the clench in my hands
I don't know how I'd be
if I couldn't gulp
great gouts of emotion
in chunks of minutes hours
I might starve
these fingers would feel so empty
without shadow-loves to try
and fail
to touch.
a heartbeat sounds so
thin and pale
when it beats alone.
I don't know who I'd be
I don't know what I'd be
if I held up the mirror
and saw reflected
only black.
----------------------------
I saw X-Men: First Class last night. It fucking ruled. And I want to make Magneto my woobie and by God do I want to read angsty manly respectful tortured slashfic about the love that can never be between Xavier and Magneto. And boy, this is a pattern, now isn't it?
It may have been years since I was truly involved in a fandom, but I'll always think fondly on it... and I'll always, always be a fan who weaves characters' life-stories into my own
How well does this poem convey the above? Do those of you in similar head-spaces understand what I was trying to say -- or conversely, were you beat over the head with it? Let me know :) I'm very bad at symbolism so let me know if that held true.