A Poem in which His Name Is Replaced by Beirut
A Poem in which His Name Is Replaced by Beirut button poetry stories
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joycehorkos
joycehorkos Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   7 months ago
I met Beirut a couple of months ago. I was passing by when I accidentally saw him.

A Poem in which His Name Is Replaced by Beirut

I met Beirut a couple of months ago.

I was passing by when I accidentally saw him.

I wasn't supposed to look in his direction (he was forbidden property), but i did- it's the rebellious code in me.

I was raised on the idea that men like Beirut,

Take away beautiful things.

I was raised on the idea that men like Beirut,

Steal away innocence.

I was raised on the idea that men like Beirut,

Are dark and monstrous.

But i met Beirut.

Beirut didn't need to take beautiful things;

He had a collection of his own.

Beirut had missing parts, stolen by other girls who visit cities for one night stands,

Or even worse- for love affairs.

Beirut did have dark corners,

But he made sure to plant streetlights,

On every turn.

Beirut buckled the seatbelts of our imagination and took me places:

There's this one time when we went up to Jupiter to pick a bouquet of scientific theories,

Or this one time when he insisted we jump off the boat and take a swim in the waters of Venice,

Or this one time when we met Hitler before he started the Second World War, cussed him out, and told him he'd lose.

"Beirut is nothing like us," they said.

But Beirut was...

Or maybe, I wasn't like them...

Because Beirut and I were the same.

Beirut showed me his tight humid tunnels,

The ones that suffocate him.

I hated it when Beirut went down the memory lane;

Beirut would have gloomy clouds in his eyes,

And deep lines drafted on his forehead.

Every time Beirut opened up to me,

Fear would haunt him down.

There's this little kid that would peek through Beirut's eyes,

And look at me...

As if begging me for empathy, and hiding away from pity.

I never pitied Beirut,

Instead, i pitied myself.

Beirut didn't have parents who'd tell him that village girls, like me, are different.

Beirut had enough courage to speak about the past without letting it ruin his future.

Beirut trusted me.

"People usually get scared by my transparency," Beirut once said...

"But you, you don't."

And that's how Beirut cried,

And when he did,

It made him more of a man...

Beirut's tears washed away my sins...

When i first met Beirut,

I thought he was just a floral wallpaper,

And I thought to myself "DAMN!

Beirut really isn't like us!

Beirut is spring and sunshine and noise and life..."

But Beirut wasn't.

Beirut pealed the wallpaper bit by bit.

Beirut let me see his brick walls.

Beirut proudly showed me the street art

Written in bold red,

By his high school bullies.

Beirut let me step on the forgotten islands of his heart.

Turns out that Beirut had scarred wrists, just like me.

Beirut held my hand,

As I wandered through his dimly lit isles.

I didn't leave Beirut's hand,

But neither did he when we walked through mine...

"Beirut is loud," they said,

And Beirut was.

Beirut had a laugh that boomed like thunder,

And thunder isn't blinding,

Until our fear of its light causes us to close our eyes.

Beirut knew songs that made every muscle in your body move,

And every vein pump blood,

Pump life,

Pump... freshness.

Beirut made silly voices like "gurgle" and "boo" and "aaouuhh"

But Beirut didn't snore.

Beirut was silent at night.

Beirut hugged me at night.

Beirut moved his hands on my waist,

In patters that matched my sleepy breaths.

Beirut was calm,

And peaceful,

Like the sound of waves that echoes in beach shells,

Like the smell of your grandma's clothes- the only thing left of her.

But Beirut is also crazy.

Beirut took me to tattoo parlors,

Places where

Large and bulky men,

Drew unicorns.

But seriously, what's so bad about unicorns?

Beirut was indeed different.

Beirut had stories to tell.

Beirut had songs to sing.

Beirut had places to go.

Beirut was different,

But not scary.

Beirut was not like my family,

Nothing like my entourage,

But Beirut was like my heartbeat,

Fragile, yet strong.

"Beirut is a cage," they said,

But they forgot that the ribcage protects the heart...

To me, Beirut and alcohol were both an escape,

The latter to a deep hole,

Where the thought of going out never crossed my mind,

And the former to a high building,

To a skyscraper,

Where the thought of jumping off

Never crossed my mind.

At first, i thought it was just the

Rebellious code in me

That was so fascinated by Beirut,

Because Beirut was the type of man

That had no boundaries.

Nothing stopped Beirut,

Neither time nor place,

And i was just a village girl,

Raised on the idea that Beirut was different.

Beirut was indeed different.

For when the village people left,

Beirut was here to stay...

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