Pretty Boy

By Zara Fatima Ali

Oh, hey you, I see you staring at me,

don't for a second think that went unnoticed.

I look back and smile, knowing damn right

I'm already tripping and unfocused.

Hello turns to hey and you crash at my place

and the silences cease to be awkward.

Your hand fits in mine and its almost a crime

how we function as smoothly as clockwork.

I’m taking my time to truly understand

all that there is to learn about you.

You do the same - now the sun and the rain and

the trees feel less lively without you.

As time goes by, your struggles, they surface

and you try your best to suppress;

as though taking your clothes off for me is the only way

I’d like for you to undress.

An anecdote from last Wednesday

might assist in eventually affirming

that your lows are never to be cast aside –

my sense for your mood is discerning.

You just walked in and you slumped down beside me;

not a word, yet a thousand exchanged.

You sigh, right before your head hits my thighs –

close your eyes; don't disguise what was just advertised.

I see past your walls though you fail to believe me,

I sense storm clouds brewing inside.

Your thoughts like wild horses are racing and chasing,

untamed and so disorganised.

Your heart thumps against me, beats louder than ever

and suddenly I feel more alive.

On this day that you're low and you can't hold your own

It’s my turn to extemporise.

So I call out your name – “Hey, my pretty boy. pretty boy?

What's got you feeling so weary?

I’m using my light to consume all your darkness

that has made your eyes so dull and dreary.”

“Pretty boy, hey, my pretty boy?

Come claim a share of my fire.

When you're in my space you're as safe as can be

because here, we create and inspire.”

“Pretty boy, would it help if I told you

some things that I noticed about us?

Some truths in this world that's oh-so full of lies

and of people that constantly doubt us?”

“We're good together, two spirits entwined

in an intergalactic dance;

hand in hand we're fighting our demons,

who stated that dead was romance?

Fending the world off and taking each step

based purely upon circumstance.

I’m taking this moment to tell you I love you,

only a little in advance.”

You see –

On self-loathing days you're my mirror and muse,

and yes, that would make me a hypocrite,

but because you're a part of me, each poem I write

has a piece of you folded into it.

“You run through my veins and

you run down my cheeks;

oh, pretty boy, I wish you knew,

that on the inside and the outside

there is no one I've met

that's in any way prettier than you.”

By Zara Fatima Ali