#i wish i could've made what i saw in this at the start but asldkjalsd

[its-toasted]

An other-poem for korean brothers

I'm gonna tell you a lot of things with a lot of assumptions because I've loved a lot of korean boys and I'm one of them. The title should read another, but the first one's tucked underneath reams on reams of tissue paper, the kind halmonee places tender into gift bags with clothes you adore, and would never wear in public. Enough stuffing that lets you believe love is like layers, solely meant for stripping off and tossing into closets with coats. (We're reclaiming many words, by the way. Ton of biblical shit I promise. Casting is one. Temple is two. Grace is another. I mean an other, since there's no running list from before. Our scriptures are scattered, the brothers spread thin and speak quiet.) But back to the cloakroom: You need one in your head, a vacuum safe to love your body in, void of any interruptions and I swear that's where it starts. Your mind won't be sharp unless sure that the skin fits just fine, so in this caperoom you will open up vain fears each morning, and the fabric dampens noise like a panic room, which we call the plush walls of a luxe studio. And so they be. And in the corner lies a mirror, everyday you need to make eyes and say corny shit man. Cross of friday sermon sunday banter pregame heat, what nobody would leave for you before. Things you'll cry and cringe and give into the mouth you hate to let go, one that renders your eyes as low as you like to forget, scrambling reckless abandon. Reminders begin on the lid of a lockbox you can crack when stung. The message inside reads something like, you're such a revision of god. Less imperfect than our mothers and fathers. Here's blueprint and code: We don't forget heroes. We cast to the sky. The temple is peace of mind. Your grace is key and missing from the world. These aren't truths, only warnings of resolution. Or revolution. The secrets our brothers don't publish usually run a bit like, you are beloved and make no mistake. Beauty is half how you see with the eyes, the rest a tribute to the curve of your mouth. If it aches, then slow it down a touch. You may find the lesson on jonesing for friction which applies to everything. I'm too young to share it, supposedly too old to carry, but that's the demon again. So you crush it and there's more to give.