Tag: andrew minyard

i. I might have switchblade fingers and a barb-wired mouth,
but don’t think for one second
that you’re so far removed from the likes of me.
Come off that tall pedestal where you sit,
all high and mighty and deserving.
Come join me in the gutter— join me where we really belong.
We’re Minyards, remember?
And Minyards don’t get higher than rock bottom.
What? Does it hurt to hear me say it?
Look me in the eyes, brother, I’ll say it again:
We’re Minyards.
And Minyards don’t get higher than rock bottom.
An entire childhood apart doesn’t mean anything,
can’t defer DNA or change who we are.
We share so many things already— Just look at our faces.
Study the sharp angles we share,
the laugh we mirror,
the nightmares we divvy up.
We’re not so different, you and I.
Me, with my barb-wired mouth.
You, with your salt-rimmed lips.
My gasoline voice is perfect
for your wildfire words.
We’re the perfect match
for a world on fire.
Now climb down from your high horse, brother.
You’re not as great as you pretend to be.
You’re a Minyard.
And Minyards aren’t good for anything
other than showing the rest of the world
what a bad influence looks like.
ii. ( But while we were busy lighting the world on fire,
we didn’t notice that we were burning in our own wake.
You can feel it, too, can’t you?
Tell me you can feel it, too. )

iii. I won’t try to make you understand.
I know when I’m preaching to the choir,
and this is not a conversation I will ever be willing to have with you.
You can’t change how people are.
But, I will say this:
I see the way you look at her when you think people aren’t looking.
( I see it, because I’ve been there, too. )
There’s a softness in your eyes that wasn’t there before;
a warmth in your laughter
that I’m sure not even you have heard in years.
I think you’ve been lost for a while now,
and you might have stumbled upon someone
that you can comfortably call Home.
She’s something holy to you, this seraphic being,
but even you’re confused,
because you didn’t consider yourself religious before she came along.
She’s everything light and pure and good and—
You’re scared. You’re so scared.
When you’re scared, you touch the ring resting on your finger.
You might not notice it, but I do.
That ring means safety for you. She means safety for you. 
She’s a promise for better, happier days.
It’s like she’s a candle,
And you’re afraid of the dark.
And oh, how terrified of the night you are.
( I know. I know, because I’ve been there, too. )
I won’t try to make you understand.
But I know how that feels.
I know how you feel, Aaron.
And he does, too.
I won’t get in the way of your happiness.
Do me a favor and don’t get in the way of mine.

iv. You’re not afraid of telling people how you feel.
( Except, that’s not true at all, is it? )
No, you’re terrified of letting people in.
You’re a boy with a wolf trapped in your chest,
and it’s growling and snapping at your ribcage,
spilling blood and moving organs around.
( I know. )
( I know, because I’ve been there, too. )
I can see it sometimes.
It shows in your eyes on Wednesday afternoons.
Flashes over your face before you reach for pills or dust or booze.
Always drowning it out,
always looking for a distraction,
a coupe de grâce,
a deliverance from evil.
You’ve got this wild thing inside you.
But instead of asking for help, you just say,
“I’m tired. Just tired. Just tired.”
Nod and smile.
Sell the lie.
“Just tired. Just tired.”
You’re being mauled from the inside out.
You’re being torn to pieces and you don’t even care.
I think it’s time to start acting like you do.

v. ( I’m sorry, too. 
More than I can express with words.
We deserved better.
We deserved so much better. )