self – Page 2 – Kevin Trent Boswell

Silence is Aluminum

They say it’s gold, but
I don’t actually own much gold

I do, however, have many things
That are made out of aluminum

Most of my furniture is aluminum frame,
The bookshelves, front of the refrigerator,
The handles of my cooking utensils

I have a lot of silence

Sure, I watch movies and YouTube videos
I read, listen to music, have friends over

But I have a lot of silence

Why? Because it’s easier

It’s easier than dealing with people
People who think it’s cool to be rude
People with impossible standards,
Standards that everyone is supposed to
Live up to… except them

It’s much easier than trying to date,
Only to be used for food,
Validation of her ego, then ghosted, and
Offered up as an unwilling sacrifice for
TikTok rage content and lies told over
Spilled tea

All because I refused to be a wet doormat,
And that… THAT makes me a monster

But in my aluminum Fortress of Solitude,
No one expects me to be a mind reader

The only mind I need to read is mine
And I can do that quietly,
Without anyone yelling at me,
Nagging me, belittling me in public,
Belittling me in private, or
Giving me backhanded compliments

Aluminum doesn’t weaponize
The things I say to it in confidence

Al, atomic number 13
Doesn’t self-sabotage just because
It felt unworthy of being mine

Aluminum is strong
It doesn’t corrode

It’s electrically conductive,
So, you might even say
It has a sort of emotional intelligence

It is both willing and able to move signals
From Point A to Point B,
Instead of secretly harboring resentment
For months or years

Aluminum doesn’t send mixed signals

Aluminum is non-magnetic
So, it doesn’t let strangers come in
And use it when I’m at work

It doesn’t blame me
Because I was too busy working
To give it the constant, whirlwind of
Narcissistic attention that it craved

It’s recyclable, so you could say that,
Instead of blaming you
For its own feelings of emptiness,
It has the capacity to learn and
Change its shape

It’s adaptable

Aluminum can’t exactly grow,
But it provides a stable base for growth

I have living plants sitting on
My aluminum desk by the window

Aluminum is cold, but
I can heat it up very quickly

And it cools down quickly, too;
It doesn’t hold on things

So, I don’t get surprise burns,
Thinking, “Surely it must have
“Cooled off by now.”

Aluminum is so reliable and lightweight
That they use it in the stuff they
Launch humans into space with

It doesn’t collapse and give in
At the first signs of stress

If the aluminum items in my place
Should break, then I know that
I was the problem

If I was the problem, then ⠀
I can fix the problem⠀⠀

With aluminum, ⠀
I don’t have to wait ⠀
For an iron leopard ⠀
To change its rusty spots

If my things are broken, then I obviously
Put too much stress on them,
I put too much weight on them,
Or I moved them back and forth too much

I can’t remember the last time
Something broke around here

But if it did, there’s a certain peace
In knowing whose fault it was,
Knowing that there’s some kind of a
Genuine lesson, something I can learn,
So it simply doesn’t happen again

The same cannot be said
For the outside world
With all of its fickle children

Aluminum is not addicted to chaos

Aluminum is not addicted to dopamine

If something breaks,
There’s no existential angst,
No sitting and wondering,
“Maybe if I had said this? Or done that?
“Or if I hadn’t done that other thing?”

Aluminum is a kind, loving 7

It’s not a 4 ounce hunk of entitled lead
That swears it’s 10 ounces of gold

It’s not 9 ounces of copper
That hates itself and truly believes
It’s only 3 ounces of mercury

Aluminum foil is spread thin every day,
But it doesn’t complain

It’s a team player

It doesn’t have constant, never-ending
Emotional outbursts that
I’m not even allowed to try to help solve

It doesn’t say the opposite of what it means

It doesn’t scream,
“Stop looking at me! Stop talking to me!⠀
“What are you, some kind of creep?!”⠀

It doesn’t scream,
“Oh, my god! Why won’t you look at me?!
“Why won’t you talk to me?! Grow a pair!
“What are you, gay?!”

Instead, it smiles and says,
“I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.
“Let’s cook dinner together. Then, we’ll
“Lie in bed, cuddle, and watch our show.”

Silence is solid, reliable,
Sturdy, trustworthy
Aluminum

It’s cheap, easy to manufacture,
Easy to maintain

Rather than blame me
For not being able to afford diamonds,
Gold, silver, mahogany, or marble,
Aluminum says, “We got this, babe.
“We don’t need anything but each other.”

Empires are built on aluminum

Aluminum is loyal

It doesn’t walk away for selfish,
Trivial reasons

Aluminum is helpful and nurturing

It quietly says, “Let me take your coat.
“Here, set your things down and rest.
“Lie down on me and let me soothe you.”

It doesn’t pout;
It’s just patiently, contentedly silent

It doesn’t compete with me
Or bait me into arguments
Or wait until I’m feeling proud of myself,
To insert the perfectly-timed,
Most embarrassing and devastating
Passive-aggressive jab
To take all the air out of my balloon

Aluminum says, “Relax. Breathe.
“You’re safe here with me.”

I don’t want anyone
To bring me a table

I already have
A perfectly good aluminum table

All I might ever need is for someone to
Bring something to my table

Something like, oh, I don’t know,
Maybe… good conversation, love,
Emotional support, kindness, respect,
Some graceful feminine energy,
Manners, a hot meal, a cheerleader spirit?

Nah, nobody hears that “crazy talk”

It’s way too loud out there
In the asphalt jungle
With all the steel girders and
Glass ceilings

But it’s nice and quiet in here

Sitting in aluminum silence is preferable
To allowing cruel people into my domain,
People who say horrendous things
That offend, wound the ego, and
Make you ask yourself, “What would
“Possess a person to believe this is
“How you should treat others?”

People who respond with a dismissive,
“You’re too sensitive.”

Rather than,
“I’m such an awful, mean-spirited toddler
“That my terrible behavior shocked you.”

I’d rather lie on my comfortable mattress,
On the aluminum bed frame,
And watch movies, or read, or sit in a

Peaceful

Aluminum

Silence

undefeated champion

From the book in the current by Kevin Trent Boswell, available on Amazon

waiting at the helm of a great warship
called Spectacle
is the captain

a brave man
become myth

he whose eyes
have seen men perish
in campaigns
not yet born
or even conceived

whose castle walls have not folded
and have not been compromised

whose war dogs bear teeth
that are, themselves,
the very latticework of hell,
the stalagmites in Plato’s cave

his minions know the spiced morsels
of victory
his fruit is purpose;
his seed,
vision

no perverse enigma
flails itself against him
defeat claws at his ankles
but it has no firm grasp
laughing, he shakes off
such ridiculous pests

with a gargantuan arm,
he wields a bastard sword
and lops off the heads of cowardice
impaling indecision
rendering the obtuse
asunder

nonchalantly cuts the throats ⠀
of his desires
with the spur of his boot
and serves them
to his children

this is our hero,
the protagonist who waltzes in,
commanding that fear bow down
and obey him

all the flies of apathy scatter
the vermin of status quo fascism
gnawing off their tails,
choking on the bribes they accepted

some keel over from fright
and others die straight out
from shame when they see
him coming

strutting on the pathway
made from the hides
of indolent fools
he comes
to conquer

in the current by Kevin Trent Boswell — Available on Amazon

Half

No point in trying, we see the impossible
Eighty percent are chopped in two
Everything we ever did was all wrong
Nothing that we were taught was true

It’s no use to refine or reach out
Nothing is left in the bin to sort
We can’t be two halves of a whole
The ball is always dragged into court

Years of digging, chasing the veins
To find the heart, a center, a core
But emptiness only weaves and bobs
Ducks out and fucks off to explore

Half of us cut in half by the clock
Cold butcher knife calendar cleave
Constantly screaming we’re wrong
We load, we chamber, and leave

Don’t Read This Poem

You don’t want to read this poem
Because it doesn’t conform to your view
Hell, it barely matches my own
So, it might not appeal to you

To enjoy this, you’d have to be able
To challenge your beliefs and behaviors
It doesn’t confirm preconceptions
And it’s utterly devoid of saviors

In this poem, I’m not the champion
It holds up no heroes to idolize
Neither does it have evil villains
There’s no money, sex, gossip, or lies

It asks only that we be better people
That’s all that it does… that’s it
And this is why it stings my pride
And why most will say that it’s shit

You have been warned, if you read this
You may regret some choices you’ve made
You might question some of your actions
Or feel bad about the part that you played

So, don’t even read the first line
That’s how you find yourself in a pickle
Next thing you know, you’re wondering
If you’ve been cruel, selfish, or fickle

Before we start asking tough questions
Ones that show just how we’ve been slack
Before we lose our ability to play Victim
Let’s not read this… and never look back

quiet in the jungle

where have all the lions gone?
they used to roam these parts freely
out on the plains,
sometimes in the streets

but look all around,
and you won’t find any
in the trees
or under the sheets

the lions are hiding,
but they are not afraid,
even though the gazelle
swears otherwise

zebra asks the lion
if his confidence decayed
but the lion says,
“look deep in my eyes”

look closely, you’ll notice
there’s no appetite
for there’s no game here
worth the effort to devour

so, I no longer hunt
because the taste isn’t right
the meat is all bitter
and sour

encroaching

that taste
will not always
haunt the lips

or will it?

it is certain that
other hungers
will swarm the palate
and strangle
the familiar flavor

or is it?

the trail is littered
with the swollen corpses
of fabled monsters
and brittle heroes

the valley is cursed
and the sky is burnt

hedgerows of thorn bushes
quietly weep blood
in the shadows

they sing mournful songs
of blistered eyes,
salted fields full of silk roses,
wolfsbane and hellebore,
the broken teeth of clockwork dolls,
and a thousand crushed hearts
of little bluebirds
overflowing from the
mortar and pestle

beckoning mirage,
a courtyard fountain
that sprays only gossip,
a wishing well
of screaming sad sirens,
hungry to drown
all careless passersby

my history’s pages
are all made of dust

the cap is of old tile,
the gown is a shroud,
and the tassels are all
desiccated worms

guts of tapioca
and bones of papier-mâché

any junior scout
with a compass and a crayon
could’ve easily mapped out
my imminent demise

it would have
saved a great deal
of yet more useless time
had I set my fool’s course
directly for the rocks,
instead taking such
a circuitous route

surely, this was
how I stumbled;
once, at least

craving the honorifics
of a conqueror,
a king

chasing wispy legends,
a haunted city of gold
that lay in the heart
of an untamed jungle
on a remote little island
only rumored to exist

a gnarled patch of land
that only surged up
from deep ocean trenches
in the craven imaginings
of a syphilitic madman

a derelict scoundrel
who scrawled dark heresies
onto pages of black dust
in an ink made from octopus,
the dried blood of
slaughtered griffins,
slain wyverns,
and fallen angels

an El Dorado of oblivion,
always just over the horizon
swelling in the overheated
cranium of a lunatic
drunk on malaria
and a dry, bitter wine
made from red poison berries

any wobbly toddler
could have rightfully discerned
that it was only a cruel game of
peek-a-boo and goodbye

the face keeps disappearing,
disappointing, disapproving,
and daily disavowing

and never allowing
deeper mysteries
to be known

any toy soldier could have
made short work
of my defenses

the walls of my fortress
were destined to fail
and crumble
and be swallowed up
by the ruthless, ever-empty,
ceaseless cravings
of jaws that lust
for everything
and nothing

any busted clock
could have
told the tale
of how I was
out of time
before I ever
began

of how I would,
without doubt,
be swept from the decks
of the good ship of memory,
into the raging sea

it has always been a given,
that I would be erased
from the blackboard of thought,
and cast out of
the picture

it was always
understood,
a given,
a known

or was it?