Prisoner of the Whipping Boy’s Light Box
I fell in love with my friend
He trapped me in his little light box
He fed me crumbs of camaraderie
He spun tales into a pacifying blanket
Dropped in little pellets of
Hope and romance
And then he got bored
Found something better
In the overworld of his box
And left me there
I waved and shouted
“Let me out!”
But the light box screen only goes
One way
“It was all so devastatingly special,” he said
I believed him
So I stayed in his box
Waiting to be let out
Now I know he’s a liar
I spit up a broken heart
I eat the pieces
I swallow them whole
No one believes me
They didn’t see it happen
So what could possibly be true?
The anguish of the loudly wounded
Is muffled
By the ambivalent silence of he who
Wounds
P.C. Tavarez is a Cuban Dominican poet known for their evocative exploration of love, loss, and resilience. Their debut collection, That’s Not Love, That’s a Live Grenade (2021), delves into the complexities of emotional turmoil, while their follow-up, Love In Winter, Alive in Spring, offers a nuanced reflection on renewal and hope. Through their poetry, Tavarez invites audiences to confront vulnerability and find strength in the transformative power of words.
