“My hobbies include having conversations with myself–
Like how I could approach a boy today,
Without scaring him or sounding too dumb,
Without outsmarting him, because that would be too proud,
Like how I could introduce myself, without talking about the boy, I once loved
Or the boy I was once was.
But I can’t do either without talking about the other,
Hello, my name is Belo Writes.
I have tendency of writing poetry during serious matters–
Like the time, I wrote a poem when a preacher said I am going to hell.
You see, that was my favorite poem:
Because at that time, I was silent,
I was alone, and I was afraid.
Let me just say, I love fear;
It reminds me of all the things I could do in silence,
Like loving myself without negotiating my worth.
But I am also a boy that once loved–
Perhaps more than he should have;
I call him at night,
At least I do that in my dreams when he doesn’t pick up my calls.
Sometimes I write him poems:
I write about his lisp, and the clutch of his lips,
I write about his loud silence,
Like he is thinking of how best to hurt me next.
Sometimes I laugh at him and at myself,
But mostly at myself–
About how I was such a fool,
Foolish enough to love,
To love in such a lazy manner,
To miss his scent and his touch.
I love a boy, and he left.”