I have given a lot of my faith away with purple ribbons

I have given a lot of my faith away with purple ribbons

Our fingers brush when my hope is taken from me, and I expect no more than a jolt in my stomach, slight discomfort at having been accidentally touched

I do not expect the sting

Or, rather, the burn

An acrid something in my mouth, a swish swosh of spit—it’s more than bitter, probably, but I cannot place its taste

Another time our fingers brush, and your curls part and I see your face

I resent you for what you represent—

A boy with anger and confusion and despair wrapped tighter than even my faith and my hope, held together with twine, rather than ribbon

I can see the indents on your wrists where the fibers cut in

They bleed, and because I am so careful with my own pain, I know nothing of how it feels 

To me, what holds you is sentient, alive; not proverbial or theoretical or psychological

It has hands, and teeth, and you allow it to eat at you because searching for peace requires an effort that you feel has already failed you once

I don’t know you well enough to make any headway and you’ll never know about this but my language and poetry and words are yours if you want them to have a chance to take you, too—hold you somewhere kinder

Your silence is frightening but I recognize that the alternative, to you, is worse

I may care a little too differently for you to accept it and I won’t fault you for it

Just come back to the people you do know well

And allow them to share the weight

Because kids like you, kids like us, don’t have enough time to lay around and feel sorry for ourselves when the world has begun to crack open

And I know you don’t know, because this isn’t detrimental to you

But it will be

And you will suffer 

I hope only that your bound hands do not break under the pressure of your bowing back

I’m leaving for college and you will be left behind 

I hope that the life you are about to live is worth the victory you thought you got