i have a history of taking off my shirt

at age four i wanted to play violin
and you said, "honey, you don't know how,"
but i do now.
maybe i left it for better things,
for flying kites or having a social life
(well, trying).
i guess what matters is that the hollow body is cracked
and the bow unused, a still life,
and i do not remember how. so i'm back to
square one.

one day i picked up a bat and began to swing
and you saw your life and you thought,
"my boy, disappointment is at your feet."
you were right
and i cried too often and i lost too much,
so i left that, too. and then you knew
that i was destined to leave and never come back,
to have dreams unrealized
every moment of my life.

so you must have sighed when i bought those jazz shoes,
and began to dance
and began to tap
and began to drive you out of your mind
with the life that you wanted to correct,
to live vicariously through me -
it's a burden, you know. but i think i've thrown you off.
well, the shoes stayed with me longer than
the bow,
or the bat,
or your sighs.
but i guess i've given that up, too. in search of what?
(a social life?)

and i've given up the terminals and lines of code,
the computers full of promise
the camera that i once used (and paid for)
some of my friends and some of my life
my sexual identity
my relationship with you.

and in the end there are things i still do
only you don't see them
because you know they have no future
but heartbreak and abandonment.

but who will abandon who?

so when i tell you where i want to go,
i know you laugh and sigh,
and think that i have an unrealized life.
well, if you'd open your ears
you'd hear
that i am not the child you think i am.

and honestly?
shut up, please.