Boston LaRussa

Published: October 16th, 2014

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My name is Boston LaRussa. I am unpredictable and brilliant. I am not prideful, but I will admit I am a decent - an excellent composer of poetry.
I'm truly one of a kind. Not sure if that's good or bad.

Baby Faces

You know what I see when I walk through crowds of people?
I see children.

Some, I can see it clearly.
Some, I can see it hardly.
Some, look fatigued and weary
As if playing on the playground was tiring, really?

But I know, I know. They haven't been playing.
I mean they've most likely been praying.
Being stalked by death, always preying.
I would be weary too if my life was decaying.

But I peel away the wrinkles, that life has been etching.
I pull back the skin, on a bony face stretching.

I see a baby, as happy as can be.
I see their reflection from when they were three.

And I look at them all for who they truly are.
I dust off their faces and vacuum the scars.

I see them as children, most people don't see.
I see them as ageless, until death sets them free.

The Waiting Place

You know that place between consciousness and the dreams of you that still haunt me?
That place you visit just after you wake up from a dream?
Some of you might not know what I'm talking about, but after every dream there is a limbo.
A limbo where dream meets reality and your dream steps into the real world.
When your eyes are awake but you won't open them, to stay in that limbo.
To stay in the spot that I have named "The Waiting Place".
To stay in the time where life serves a purpose because I'm still living in it with you.
Although you might never come, I'll always wait for you.
Where the road starts and ends.
Where the water trickles up from the pond.
Where the imagination and the reality become one.
Where my love for you isn't dead and I still care for you.
I'll always wait for you.
Always.
But when I wake up, don't expect a hug, a text or a goodnight kiss.
I won't give you any of this.
I will never speak to you, I will never say a word.
I will never look back at the love that we shared.
I won't do any of these.
But I will always wait at The Waiting Place, between here and my dreams.

Untitled

She knocked on my door, timing impeccably punctual. I knew of her motives, and kept my door locked in order to assure my safety. These walls that surrounded me wrapping tightly around my body, my breath came short for security. It was to insure my own safety. The knocking became louder, drawing me closer and closer to it. The tight spaces were of no use, I made them. Nothing held me back from answering. My hand lifted gracefully, the knocking was getting louder. I reached out, it was deafening...I couldn't breathe. My fingers draped around the door knob, my eardrums bursted the tight spaces made their way into every orifice they could. Turning; choking; pulling; vomiting. Light flashed into the room and the door flew open in a ray of brightness. I fell to the ground. I could breathe, I could move, I could hear the sounds of laughter and beautiful things. My eyes were closed, so I opened them. Blindness? Yes, blindness. Vision was taken; however, the room kept getting brighter. The laughter and beautiful things, louder. Until the sound was so loud that it became distorted and ruined. Screaming and yelling