#(this was heavily inspired from HOWL by allen ginsberg)

[earthbaby-angelboy]

caramel macchiatos, croissants with nutella, and an angel with sideburns: the musings of a grown child whose trying.

theres a stilling comfort in knowing that i’m awake when everyone else is asleep, being left with an amalgamation of ghosts from past, present and future; it’s like mist dissipating over a lake.

one breath, and it’s all gone.

my head feels fuzzy, and my body hurts. i’m fighting sleep off like a priest fighting demons. the reality of my situation hits me, and panic ensues two or three times; it’s like i’m 7 all over again. except now, there’s something different…

there’s an angel with black hair and sideburns whose wings are covered in multicolored diamonds.

and while i feel like i’m back in the house and like you can hear the screams echoing off the foyer walls, something is different.

this time, i’m sitting in his lap and we’re backed into a corner. my head is leaning against his chest, my arms crossed over my front in lieu of a shield, and loud whine or quiet hum (i can’t tell which is which) is coming from the back of my throat.

our hearts are beating together in rythm, even though his stopped 47 years ago.

for a second, i feel embarrassed for even writing this; it quickly diminishes, though, because i am just a small child having emotions bigger than my own body.

i realize that he’s not here (nor was there) to fight the screams off, or tell them to stop fighting.

he doesn’t care about that, he’s here to help me survive.

it dawns on me now that the universe is recreating a scene from that damned year, but it’s playing out in a way completely unexpected…

cause i’m not 7.

i’m almost 17, but i’m still just as small.

difference is that now, i’m not powerless against the screaming, and i’m not filled with fear.

instead of trying to fix everyone else’s problems, i’m worried about regulating my own.

for moments more slight as forever, he cuts through the cymbals crashing in my brain and i can hear him saying something.

his tone isn’t angry, demeaning, accusatory or mocking, like all the voices i had become accustomed to hearing but banished out to hell.

it’s bizarrely gentle and kind and parental and romantic, all wrapped up into one.

i’m in the present now.

everything has changed, yet nothing at all.

it all happened so fast, and i take a moment to pity myself.

the angel is dead, survived by books and records and the creation of others.

as i’m writing this, i now realize he was dead way back when too. if now, he seems more alive than ever.

but it wasn’t really ‘way back when’, was it?

i see glimpses of his face everywhere i turn now, for nothing more than a few seconds.

sometimes it’s 2:22, or the rainbow made by the moon, or audubon drive popping up on google at 10:34 in the morning.

those few seconds give me enough hope to walk through a dark valley that just keeps getting steeper.

i’ve come to realize the angel that is (and was) with me was NOT the one they claimed to know.

if i try hard enough, he can remain untouched.

it seems that my generation is not rewriting, but retelling the story, his story, all while creating an intense reflection of the comfort so very many of us were denied.

call it inaccurate as you please, we are taking something that was far beyond its time, and applying it to ours.

and i wonder for more than a minute if there was a reason he behaved the way he did.

was there a reason for all the peculiarities other than an eccentric-erratic personality? or is it more like “it takes one to know one?”

because even in our year, i’ve never seen someone in his position behave the way he did: so loving and kind and brutal and rough and erratic…

and terribly brilliant.

#elvis presley #poetry #idk if this counts as poetry?? #but i’m putting it anyway #i wrote this at 3am #when things were real bad and i was looking back on everything #looking forward too #but it was all too much #so i did what i do best and put my neurosis into words #this touches on more in one than some of my other fics ever had #this encapsulates my close past and distant future #how he was there and is still here #and it’s supposed to be cryptic and poetic and sappy and whatever else #cause i want another kid who is also in an abusive situation to see that someone else is there too #(this was heavily inspired from HOWL by allen ginsberg) #i would love to answer questions about this #tw implied death #tw implied child abuse #tw implied hallucinations #remember #you are loved♥️