Magic

Who tricked you
into believing that
you are not magic?
.
Glances,
like cards,
pulling aces
when our eyes connect.
You always know
the cards I try to hide.
My eyes whisper to you
even when I tell them to be silent.
Their loyalty does not rest with me.
.
When I am crushed
by the fangs
of darkness.
You put me
back together
with your tongue.
Rolling splintered shards
of me in your mouth,
removing my infectious pain
from melancholy’s unforgiving mauling.
You set your head
on my chest
and my heart beats stronger.
We tend to talk better when there is an active listener.
.
Who tricked you
into believing that
you are not magic?
.
When life
turns my self-confidence into a quiet flag
draped lifeless down my post,
like the losing corpse in a game of hangman,
you sing a storm,
and make me rage
in my brave and pride.
My identity’s colors screaming
like predatory birds
circling the dead,
the last memory
my enemies will have.
I am battle ready because of you.
.
Who tricked you
into believing that
you are not magic?
.
You turned a boy into a man
and, trust me, that spell
does not always work.