Boys came calling after school,
sometime between six and eight,
before the summer- longer days
under the swell of frustration.

Boys came calling after school,
halting homework and hunting,
looking to come closer to a truth
but I held mine firm, in the door-
halfway, me half in, half confused
as to what they wanted, intrigued
as to who they thought I was.

Boys came calling after school,
before the summer- longer days,
stifling nights, sticky like glue-
like adhesive that never stuck
to the right surfaces as I beat
myself into a form I’d never fit.

I wanted to open the door,
to the boys who came calling,
to accept that some could be
sincere after so much shame
but I was afraid, at that time,

of who exactly might come out.


All words by Damien B Donnelly


2 thoughts on “CALLING

  1. Fear–it is amazing how we let our lives be dominated by that one emotion. I remember a recommendation from a motivational book that has stuck with me–ask yourself what you would do if you were not afraid. That’s tough to do under any circumstances, but especially when you are a teenager, as your wistfully beautiful poetry suggests, Damien.

    • Thanks Michael, yes, at that age when you don’t know how to ask yourself, it is tough asking anyone else for help, strength, guidance. But it’s the journey that makes it interesting. We are parts of it all and not just chosen pieces 🤔☘️

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