Honest Confessions on Letting Go
by Kevin Kantor
Honest confessions on falling in and out of love with a confused 20-something semi-closeted gay man or I can usually tell in the first fifteen minutes if something’s gonna work out for the long haul so why’d I ever bother or a beginner’s guide to crying publicly at parties over a completely self-fabricated history of something that only ever sort of was or how to let go.
One. Last Halloween, Britney Malenda’s dressed up as Dora the Explorer and got so drunk that she stood on a chair and shouted, “How many shots has Dora had? Otso! Dora tiene otso shots!” Five minutes later you were making out with drunk Dora in the middle of the living room and in that moment for some reason I knew you had to be mine.
Two. I totally watched Django Unchained without you over winter break even though I promised you I wouldn’t and then pretended to be watching it for the first time on our date. That was the only time that I ever lied to you which for me is a personal best.
Three. I have never found you sexier than when you talk about German fimmakers, struggled to ice skate, or tell me that I am wrong.
Four. I have reoccurring dreams about deep cleaning your apartment.
Five. The first time that you told me I cannot stay the night because your roommate might come home and see me, I should have left you. Not out of selfishness, or anger, but because when you begin to rearrange your vocabulary for someone else, replacing words like unhealthy with compromise, you will begin to forget your own name.
Six. You called me baby like flicking on a light switch, something quick and easy that you knew you could do to brighten up the room. But I am sick of sleeping with the lights on because you were afraid of the monster in your closet and I was afraid that it had already climbed into bed with us or that I had been the monster all along.
Seven. I told everyone how bad the sex was–because it was.
Eight. I have thought about you during sex with other people.
Nine. I’ve never wanted someone to hurt and be happy so badly.
Ten. I told you I loved you, last resort. I told you I loved you, like a bomb shelter, something to hide in after the fallout, but we would always be hungrier than our rations would allow.
Eleven. How do you tell someone that they taught you how to look at a seed and see a flower? You are blooming in another man’s garden and I feel like I’m the only one who got his hands dirty. When he bites into your roots, he will taste my rainwater. When he strips you naked, he will pause between each article of clothing, stop and say how beautiful.
Twelve. I’m sorry I have not yet forgotten how to find you beautiful.
Thirteen. I’m trying.
Fourteen. For Valentine’s Day you got me an eggplant. I don’t really remember the significance only that you covered the entire thing with silver sharpie so you could write little messages in black which wouldn’t show up in the purple when you could have just written the messages in silver. When you gifted it with me, I didn’t even realize what it was because, well, eggplants are purple.
You covered up everything to try to be with me.
And I no longer knew what I was.
TL;DR? Lazy ass. Well, here’s a video of him performing the poem.
Kevin Kantor is easily my favorite poet. You’ll be seeing a lot more of him.
Until next time,