Stanza One:

Kwon Jiyong was a fabulous writer, even at the young age of eight.

His parents would look upon him with proud gazes when he returned home with A’s on his English homework. His writing was rhythmic, almost eerily soothing and his voice stood out alone with each written word.

The patterns the graphite left on his paper pleased Jiyong. He could make any story he wanted come to life; emptying out everything from dreams to solid memories.

His favorite was the one called Gaho; because that’s what it was all about, his cute little shar pei puppy.

Gaho is my only pet, he is a ‘shar-pei’ breed.

He is very happy a lot, but barks too much.

I think he barks because he is so happy he cannot keep it inside.

So when my dog barks I am happy too and we play.

Gaho is a good boy.

“Wow, this is fantastic, baby!” His mother cooed gleefully, reading over the paper, enwrapped in Jiyong’s father’s arms. “Sweetheart, look.” She ushered her husband to read it as well.

“Looks great, kiddo.” He ruffled Jiyong’s short brown hair and kissed his wife lovingly. “Our son is so talented, huh?”
“Definitely,” His mom’s dimples showed as she smiled.

She hung it on the kitchen door that day, and continued to flaunt it to all of Jiyong’s aunts when they visited. The young brunette’s heart swelled with pride; he was happy his parents and teachers approved of his writing.

If only the other kids understood, he wished. They never praised him for his high grades, only mocked him for trying too hard. They also questioned why his parents kissed so much, when they dropped him off each morning.

“They love each other.” He answered easily, but the other kids continued to give him strange looks.

He couldn’t help but wonder, was it wrong for the answers to come so easily?

Stanza two:

That entire year was full of wonderful things for Jiyong.

His most beloved priest, Father Tracy, took the kids on a field trip that year, to the zoo.

It was stunning for Jiyong, to see all the animals so content with being kept in cages. Did they ever wish for something more? Or maybe cry at night, remembering what life used to be like outside of their caged schedules?

“But the positive thing about living in the zoo, Jiyong, is that they will live longer. Many of the animals would not live a happy, well-fed life had they still been trying to survive in the wild.” Father Tracy explained in his American-Korean accent. Jiyong nodded and accepted the information without hesitation.

He liked Father Tracy. The priest never questioned his parent’s love. He never avoided Jiyong because he was the kid that got good grades and tried too hard to please people.
He made sure the small, frail brunette was never left alone, or with questions unanswered. He took care of all of the kids; even let them sing on the bus on the drive back home. He was a nice man.

Jiyong figured he must have been in God’s grace that year, because soon after that trip, his little sister was born.

She had small fragile limbs, and soft little toenails, and no hair. Jiyong vowed to protect her, because he’d finally found someone that was more fragile-looking than himself. He would be the best brother, he promised.

And a month later, when Valentine’s Day rolled around and the children exchanged equal amounts of cards and candy with each other, the chubby boy around the corner of Jiyong’s street sent him a Valentine’s with a row of X’s marking the end.

He asked his father what the X’s meant, but the man only laughed and patted Jiyong’s short hair, before tucking him into bed that night.

His dad was always there to tuck him in for bed.

Stanza three:

Years passed, and in high school Jiyong wrote a poem on a sheet of white paper, striped with blue lines and also red lines marking the margin. He named it Autumn, because that’s what it was all about.

He received an A on that paper, as he always did, but his instructor advised him to write more clearly next time. He wondered how he could be more specific about a topic such as a season…

Despite the criticism he showed it to his mother, but she never hung it up on the kitchen door, because it had just been painted and she didn’t want to ruin her hard work.

He tried to understand.

He also tried to understand when the kids at church told him that Father Tracy smoked cigars, often leaving the butts on the pews, and sometimes they would burn holes.

Why would he do that? Jiyong was more concerned about the man’s health than the destruction of the pews. How could someone purposefully do something to their body that would undoubtedly hurt them in the end? Especially someone as wise as Father Tracy.

It was a strange new look on life.

That was the year his younger sister had to get glasses, black and thick-framed.

He thought other kids would laugh at her, but instead they found her small, geeky frame cute. He didn’t know why it was okay for her to be so small vulnerable, and not get teased like Jiyong was.

He felt undeniably jealous then and unconsciously began distancing himself from his sister.

He wasn’t breaking his promise, he insisted, he only didn’t wish to smother her.

And near December, when Jiyong once asked the chubby boy from around the corner to go see Santa Claus with him, he snorted and brushed off the idea.

The confusion of the situation was cleared when the other kids at school explained it to the brunette, who was currently in the process of growing out his chestnut brown hair. When it brushed against his shoulders his heart would race with excitement. No boys his age ever grew their hair out this long.

His father didn’t like his hair, but then again he and his father rarely spoke with each other as of late. They’d had a bit of a falling out, when Jiyong had discovered what his mom and dad’s kissing led to.
It was disturbing to think about— such adultery, and so publicly open about it. Didn’t they care how much trouble and embarrassment they caused for their son?

As a result of the tension, Jiyong’s father stopped tucking him in at night. Jiyong felt cold and out of place, but no longer begged his father to treat him otherwise.

“You’re a grown boy, Jiyong. Kids in high school don’t get tucked in, okay?” His dad explained, harshly slamming the door on the way out. Jiyong supposed this is why older people often reminisced over being young. Growing up .

Stanza four:

Once on a paper torn from his notebook, Jiyong wrote a poem for his college English class, called Innocence: A Question. Because that was the question about the boy that lived around the corner from his house, that had begun dropping weight and acted more intimately with Jiyong.

He missed the times when the boy would seldom drop him notes of affection on his desk or in his bag. It was a sweet approach that Jiyong appreciated, but now the boy was more direct with his feelings and the brunette always found himself at a loss of words and actions when the time came to respond.

His professor gave him an A, and a strange steady look as he handed back the paper.

His mother never hung it on the fridge, because he never showed her. What mother could love a queer? Her only son that couldn’t for the life of him find the girls at school with big s and tons of make-up attractive.

At least his sister wouldn’t turn out to be such a disappointment.

That was the same year that Father Tracy died, and Jiyong forgot how the end of Apostle’s Creed went. He supposed it would return to him eventually, if he just waded through the rough waters for now.

It wasn’t easy, though, when he caught his younger sister making out with some boy on the back porch. His greased-back hair, grease-stained clothes, and pressing his greasy lips against his young, unsuspecting sister’s. Or maybe she only played naïve, Jiyong considered. It wouldn’t be the first time his family had deceived him in such a way.

Like he noticed how his parent’s never kissed anymore. Didn’t even talk, really.

He understood that, however. Feelings changed. People changed.

He thought it was out of his reach, to fix the situation. He could only make his own choices to steer his life.

He chose to kiss the boy around the corner, Seunghyun, who occasionally wore eyeliner and clothes that were too tight.

Jiyong could feel the boy’s muscular thighs as he wrapped his hands around his painted-on pants and lifted him, pushing him against walls and lavishing him.

Seunghyun smoked, and it made Jiyong cough when they kissed. But he kissed him anyway, because that was the thing to do.

There was nothing better to do, really.
And at 3:00 A.M. every night, he would tuck himself into bed, listening to his father snoring soundly.

Stanza five:

That’s why on the back of a paper bag; he attempted to write another poem. He called it Absolutely Nothing. Because that’s what it was all about.
He decided to give himself an A, and dragged the shard of broken glass over his skin, adding another damn slash on each wrist.

And he hung it on the bathroom door, because this time he didn’t think he could reach the kitchen.