grownup pirates don’t cry at the movies

You watch movies with the friend you’ve known since

Scraped knees

Cigarettes on gymnasium rooftops

Popping pimples slathered in concealer.

You call them films now, you know all about camera work

And what it does to the men at your uni.

Dialogue about the thing you still can’t speak of.

Your friend sheds tears before you do

You smile an ironic smile, but are moved by her empathy.

Mum and Dad turn sixty

Their grayish hair still dark to you.

One scene in the movie, 

no, film, 

made the man next to you weep

His boyfriend kept stroking his arm and kissing his cheek

And laughing at the same parts you did.

So why didn’t you cry, too, pirate?

Because you are happy now!

    Because you are dried up now!

A boy keeps sending you songs you like

So you want to date him the same way 

you’d like a ripe fig just about now

You worry that love without self-recognition might just be comfort.

There was none of that when you were 18

Your girlfriend’s kisses turning you into something resembling 

A wagging tail and bared teeth.

Mixed signals. Scrambled, even.

The door to your parents house

An open mouth or pearly gates

Has returned to being a door.

Your mum gets mad at you for not emptying the dishwasher

Which used to make you bang your head 

Against the yellow

green

grey wall of your room

And now just pisses you off.