The thing I am most grateful
for is that when my heart broke,
it broke open.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 2:47 AM UTC
And I am told to just forget you
Like I haven’t seen your soul
The way you breath and live
And
How I didn’t show you
Where I hide my scars
And why I don’t cry.
It is Thursday
And my father tells me about
My stepmother.
Apparently she
Has been using a pandemic
To make my father feel inadequate
Because she is a high school teacher
My father never graduated high school
And my little brother is now to be homeschooled.
I tell him I can’t do it anymore
That the negativity is too much
That it sounds like he is making her problems
His own.
That it sounds like
He is still in a relationship
With her.
If she is so insecure
That she must use her profession
To make-up for her ability to mother
It is her problem
And not something we need to address or deal with
Because it is her problem
Not ours.
I tell my father
That he has already divorced her
That he is not in a relationship with her
And need not hold on to her problems
Like we have a stake in them.
That evening
My father is not present
For dinner at 6:30,
Which has become
The custom time we eat dinner
As a family.
This tells me
That what I said
May have been all too accurate.
I wonder if my step mother is right
To criticize him
Right to point out
That he has some **** to deal with
Before he can provide a stable home.
I eat dinner alone
At the dining table.
The only light on in the house
Is in the kitchen and my brother’s bedroom
The rest of the house lies in silence.
I am eating my dinner in the dark
With the lights on.
It is the hight of COVID-19 pandemic
It is said that 1 to 200,000 people
Will die this week.
My mother calls me twice.
The first time
I silence my phone.
She leaves a message
And calls again,
So I answer it,
I tell her I am busy.
She tells me she is outside
And has something for me.
I walk out
Into the unnaturally warm night.
She is in her car
Waiting in the driveway.
She looks thin,
I can see
That she still hasn’t put on the weight
That is natural and becoming
To her body.
I wonder if she has yet
To seek treatment
Or therapy.
She hands me a cd
Wrapped in paper towel
And secured in a plastic sandwich bag.
We are advised to not touch anyone
Who does not live with us
It could further spread the virus.
I have not seen her in at least a year,
But when she reaches out for a hug
I embrace her
As if she has not
Abandoned us.
I still have love for her.
So
When I follow you on Instagram
I am sprouting a seed of forgiveness
Because
Being the bigger person
Does not mean being bitter or stubborn
It means being honest with yourself.
And
I still have love for you.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 2:28 AM UTC
It was fitting
That it rained every day that summer
The clouds hung low
And pressed precipitation into the pavement
The sun was shining and the streets were glistening
The atmosphere came down to our level
As though to say
You are grounded
The grass was green
As though to say
You are alive
And the wind was calm
As though to say
You are still
Mother Nature seemed to be taking maternity leave
To nurture neglected nights
Passed absent of distraction
To water wandering willows
Weeping empty wisdom
The sky cried for us
When we were too busy to pretend to be anything
But grown
Sunken clouds dirtied the horizon
So we could forget that we were not clean
Cumulonimbus occluded the sky
So we did not have to worry about flying away
Held tight our skin secured secrets
Soothed violent visions
Made our minds a bit more watered down.
That summer something changed
In the sharpness of the morning
The sun was no longer a surprise
Sleep became something I did at night
My conversations with you
Became something saved for the last sip
Of a handle of ***
And your name was replaced
With him, you, the boy
You were a dream
I woke up from,
I had been asleep
Long enough.
That summer it was spring
It was the renaissance
Torture was no longer the norm
So I learned to stop loving you
With my hands
Holding fire love
With paper palms
Or maybe I was the fire
And we were paper mache
I still don’t know
If I was the consumer or the consumed
But on the back of a broken trail
I learned to be neither
Do no harm
And take no ****
Be as strong as an oak
Move your home from volcano
To valley
And vacate the wrath of want
That summer
I learned to reconcile
A child’s heart
With adult problems
I learned to raise my character
With a self-esteem that said something
With a throat that echoed more
Than him, you, the boy
That summer something changed
And finally it was me.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
Today I am your poet kindly,
The wind has renamed my skin goose bumps
I am not sorry,
My words will not be
Filling you with rage today,
Making a display of what we know
But are afraid to say.
Today I am your poet softly,
I know it may be costly
To avoid an opportunity,
But this is my cop-out poem
Understand that I am mad as hell
Am ****** the **** off
I do have **** to strew
But today my words are tired,
Yesterday my pen was heavy with destruction
I brought asteroids to earth
Made malleable a boy's soul
Yesterday my fists were swinging, hardened
But today
You won't find them beating glass ceilings.
To my ex lover,
You may breathe.
I will not be selling your secrets today,
To my family
You may speak freely,
I will not be bringing our living room
To the stage today.
Breathe while you can
Become comfortable where you may
There won't be another fair sailing time
Such as today,
I am your poet strategically,
I will replenish the circles under my eyes
Armies of literary devices will be trained today,
Know that a sword was never made sharp
Without steel first being made soft
And when they know my kindness
They will likewise know my anger
When they know my exhaustion
They will learn of my determination
Creation determines destruction.
Today I am your poet kindly,
Drink your tea friend,
Have a doughnut or two
Today, you do not have to worry
About my syntax exposing you
But keep in mind
How quiet preparation sounds,
A storm may not announce itself
Until it makes landfall.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 4:23 AM UTC
Logic,
That tired practice
That keeps busy bodies satisfied
Until they find love.
Love,
The only illogical action
That anyone has been sure of
That has made a mockery of reason.
Reason,
A cause for change
There is no reason
The Sun doesn’t ask the Earth
For a repayment
For the life it gives
Such a lack of reason,
Such a gift.
To give,
That which is a pure act
Of provision
Senseless and costly
But what light
What life is begotten
By such a pure act
Of honesty.
Honesty,
That which is raw,
It is only honesty
That is exempt from values
A history that is the only constant.
Consistency,
The only thing you can predict
When **** hits the fan
What will withstand
Who will out boast the highest bidder,
What a patient power.
Power,
The only thing which can be truly stolen
Yet you will always have it
The beat in our chest
May be silenced
But the formation of mountains
Will still shake your sepulcher.
True power
Deals in patience.
Patience,
A knowledge of
And trust in
What is larger than this
The entropic force
That will make relevant
What is essential.
Essentially,
This is a love poem
Whom it is for
Only time will tell.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 5:44 PM UTC
before you **** yourself,
just remember
that there are
places you have not been
and things you have not seen.
and poems to awe
art to draw
fields to walk through,
people to talk to,
music to take in,
games to win,
and books to be read.
so why,
oh why
do you wish
to be dead?
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 6:00 PM UTC
When you fall in love
Love wholly,
Give him your afternoons, nights, mornings
And even the time between them.
When he speaks drink in his words
How he fixes them to your ear,
Let him dress you in a narrative of love.
When you meet his family
Always say thank you,
Even for the simple things like water
And listen when he speaks to his mother,
How his love for her is irreplaceable.
When you meet his friends
Always laugh at their jokes
They may be corny,
But you will hear pieces of him in their conversations,
Hear the passion in his voice
When he complains of them
He’s telling you what he values.
When he holds your hand
Hold his gaze
Let him know you see him for who he is
And keep your eyes sharp,
That way you will always be the first one
To see the stutter in his step.
When he takes you to special places
Breath deep,
You may be the only boy
Whose been this close to him
So hold the atmosphere
In your chest
That way when his eyes run
You will have the cardio to catch them.
But don’t think you always have to run for him,
When he lies to you
Let him lie
He may never have been caught before
Let his words build him a shelter.
When he ignores you
Let your pain remind you of your vulnerability
Time makes it too easy for us
To become dependent.
When you fight
Don’t hold anything back
Say what you mean,
Be fair to yourself
Never let your sentences end on eggshells.
When he stops saying he loves you
Love yourself,
No one in the world could need your love
More than you
Let his silence
Make you stronger
Prouder to love you.
When he leaves you,
Try not to laugh
Let his words reveal
How false a shelter he has hid under
Be brave enough to cry in front of him
But be strong enough to walk away.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 4:36 AM UTC
I am the queen of what ifs
Sitting on a throne of could've beens
My fears are my loyal subjects
Escorting my dreams to the gallows
My ambitions are now prisoners
To my court of procrastination
I, the queen
Reign over all of this regret
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 4:31 AM UTC
this little number
is for your sake
cause if you know
just how I feel
I won't have to fake
make no mistake
this is the quake
inside us both
if you hold me near
you can feel it too
you take away my blue
make me feel alive
anyways,
I think I love you
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
Do we dare dream to fall?, to fly... to go crashing through the bedroom door
Where we tumble and roll and slowly lose all of our clothes
Lost under the sheets we ride shooting stars
Circle the sun in the blink of an eye
Catch a glimpse of eternity inbetween the beat of our hearts
Do we dare turn the page and find ourselves living a storybook life
Hopes and wishes blooming like flowers all night and all day
And when we read between the lines we find a love so perfect it's almost cliche
If we dare to sneak a glimpse and skip to the last page
Would it be a black and white classic of two aged hands holding a heart that still beats wildly and madly and impossibly in love
Dare we..
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 7:33 PM UTC