I like the world where I love a golden
boy who plays guitar and worships in church,
who smiles shyly from across the room,
who I could never date because he wouldn’t
presume to assume the right to date me
and I would never admit to deserve him.
His awkward, fumbling encounters,
the push-and-pull of “do I kiss him or wait
for him to make the move,” while he twists
his fingers and says he’s glad to see me.
I like the way both his languages
are softened by the unsure accent.
I remember the world where I loved the boy
who looked like an A-list actor,
whose grin traced ripples across the beat
of my heart. I feel the thick moisture-air
pervade the gym, where I follow every
step with my eyes, while the handsome boy—
who doesn’t know my name—chases
jerseys and basketballs across the court.
His face peeks around corners in my mind,
corners of the dustiest, boxed-up memories
and six years distant, my heart skips;
in my dreams he appears in front of me,
to clasp my hands and race away
to a world where we make sense together.
I live in a world where I love a dark
boy who swears in every breath and smokes
plants and mocks and breaks through walls—
everyone’s walls—and my friends say I’m
too good but I wonder why I’m not
good (enough) for the pretty dark boy I love.
He passes me in the cafeteria and touches
my shoulder, an insistent-soft request
and my mind careens around
sharp corners, past road signs that scream
“he loves you!” and others that spit “you
will never be enough.” Every word he speaks
is confident and bolsters my flagging soul.
“The Boy Section,” a poem by Karis Rogerson. Probably about you 😉