Maybe you called my name
( in hundreds of languages I couldn't speak, )
Or maybe
You said nothing at all
.
Maybe your love was so incomprehensibly encompassing I could not tell the difference between it and the very air I breathe -

Or maybe

It was comprehensively small

The main theme of this poem is um, triumph
So uh the secondary theme of this poem is defeat?
How could that be? Is that even what a poem is?
Is my life a song? Is this the ******* chorus?

Something crawls up from the drain through the ***** dishes and out of the sink. It grips me! It’s got me!

[This is the part I want to hide]

I saw a man so beautiful
Rarely is there ever a beautiful man--
a man so beautiful you want to kneel
and scream “You’re so beautiful!”
But instead I’ll worship him in the ways he insists:
by stepping aside on the sidewalk,
by laughing at the jokes he steals from me,
by squandering the money he pays me to do his job.

Is my life a song? Is this the ******* chorus?

It took me three to four years to learn
the difference between worshiping and begging,
between faith and belief
And now I have neither and engage in both and yet
My life feels like a free coffee and bagel
My life feels like an unwrapped candy bar
My life feels like a compliment from a stranger
My life feels like a birthday card with cash in it
Is my life a song? Is this the ******* chorus?

This is my once-yearly poem.
It’s like a broken perfume bottle at the bottom of my bag.
Look at it-- read it. Smell it.  Literal swill.  Most things make me feel sad, even more things make me feel threatened, especially this poem.
What is there to do but put my head in my hands?
What is there to say if not sorry?

Paradise is a state of mind
In a place where there is plenty-
A place where on your down time
Things look more than just pretty.

Paradise can mean a lot of things,
It can be multiple places.
The coming & going of years
Passing over different faces.

Paradise can bring you fortune-
Her smile may even give some fame,
But she levees a heavy tax
For all who stand to gain.

Paradise takes your heart & soul
Just to make you feel at home,
Not knowing whether you’ll get to leave
Feeling broken or as a new whole.

Paradise is a vacation-
Paradise is a job.
Paradise is exploitation-
Paradise is a massage.

Paradise is a place to enjoy
As others are made to suffer,
With money standing in between
To play the role of buffer.

Paradise is a cup of coffee
Paradise is a broken promise
Paradise is a rolled up leaf
Paradise is a stolen profit

Paradise is whatever you
want it to be,
As long as you make it yourself
& don’t steal it like a thief.

~
The beauty
Of your nest
Lies in knowing
What hides within
Is better than the rest

A glimpse through your foliage
Reveals a soft calyx
The petals of which are
The enthroned souls of the faithful
But a trap door nonetheless

When I enter
You will sigh
When I keep at it
You will know why
Angels sing
~

Dear capricious heart,
I’m sorry for leaving you at the door step of my past self.
I know you’re built with wings that can’t take you to the sky,
But I was made of broken bones, my identity split between a continental divide,
And I was yearning for the moment that I’d come to terms with ambiguity.

Now I feel at ease,
knowing you’ve found comfort in the changing of the seasons,

And I have conquered the impossible task of hearing you beat without apprehension

A cloud rests on the surface of the earth
and my heart, like a paperweight,  
tethers me to the stormy waters.  
I can’t foresee where I’m heading.  
But there’s something in the heavy air
compelling my lungs conform to the feeling
of letting go