when I could not smile by bl pawelek

Even when I was joyous, people could not tell. I thought the spark in my eye would give it away. It never did.

I felt horrible for my children who thought their daddy was never happy. But, I tried to make up for it in words and constant hugs, rustling of hair.

People can’t see colors. People can’t hear things. I can’t smile. I’ve tried countless times, each one a horrible disaster of pain, teeth and blood.

I felt bad for ones I just met, the ones who thought I was an asshole during their initial jokes, for not smiling during a chance meeting, for the lack of sly kindness or flirtation.

With a continual serious demeanor, there are few friends, none new. There has been name-calling; there have been many fights.

Sometimes, I let them swing for my face and hope.

bl pawelek is a husband, dad, and hiker living in Eden Prairie, MN. He attended Loyola Marymount University and has had his poetry and photography published in numerous journals. His previous poetry collections include So Hold Me Tight and Hold Me Tight (Artistically Declined Press - 2012) and The Equation of Constants (Artistically Declined Press - 2011), as well as the upcoming collections Always/Siempre (Concepcion Books - 2013), and Four Fathers (Cobalt Press - 2014).
 

This Zine Will Change Your Life previously published Two poems by bl pawelek. Check it out.

Photo by Adam Lawrence.
Street art by Cernesto.

Bare Mutants (members of Ponys, Mannequin Men, The 1900's) are a Chicago band who released their latest album, The Affliction, earlier this month. They may suck at life, but not at music.