I wish you had died when i was eleven years old
When the paramedics took you away on that stretcher
And the foam was coming out of your mouth and you were shaking
Pale and defeated
I wish you had died when I was eleven years old
When my grandmother told me that it was just your sickness
That you were going to be okay
Every lie that was spit to me
To avoid my heart from hearing the truth
I wish you had died when I was eleven years old
When the only you I knew
Was passed out on the bathroom floor
Clinging to this so called life
I wish you had died when I was eleven years old
When all I knew was nurturing myself
Trying to fill the void
Of a motherless child
I wish you had died when I was eleven years old
When I had no other version of you to miss
No other version of you to love
No other version of you cry for
No other version to need
I wish you had died when I was eleven years old
When death was still only an acquaintance to me
And not a close friend with whom I share my secrets
The pain in your eyes
The fear in my chest
All signs pointing away from you
I wish you had died when i was eleven years old
When I would have no words to speak at your funeral
Other than "told you so"
Other than "as if I needed ber"
Other than "goodbye"
I wish you had died when I was eleven years old
When losing my mother would still leave time
To become someone else
To break the cycle
To learn how to be without you
And to learn how to love a human more than a needle.
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 8:30 AM UTC
My mother asked me if I am seeing anyone today
I thought of you
And the happiness I feel for you
I thought of how your laugh sounds
And the music you make inside of me
I thought of how your eyes sparkle
And how you speak
I thought of how hearing from you
Makes my bones crumble
And my eyes crinkle at the corners
I thought of the conversations
And the secrets that we keep
I thought of the burning in my guts
And the desire to be caressed by your gentleness
I told her that I am not seeing anyone
Because although I am captivated
I know we will never be whole
You are one half beauty
And I am one half tragedy
And neither of us can explain it
So I smiled, “maybe someday,” I said
I thought of how it would feel to love you
And how it would feel to be loved
I thought of living with you
And staying when you are gone
I thought of home
And suddenly it was you
But we cannot be complete
Because your heart lies in another's hands
And I could never compare
With the markings she left on you
So I grit my teeth
And bite my lip
And try to find a place
Where happiness could someday be with you.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 2:16 AM UTC
Tell my mother I am sorry
For breaking the rules
Lest I ever cut my hair
If I let it grow
Perhaps I will "be a girl again"
Tell my father I am sorry
He's the only man I'll ever love
Tell my brother
That he was right,
I'm a ******
Tell my sister
I won't be interested
In stealing her husband
Any time soon
Tell my grandmother
I am a disgrace
But she loves her grand-daughter
Tell my girlfriend
Her eyes make me smile
Hands make me tremble
And lips make me melt
Tell myself
I am not ashamed
For loving a woman
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC
It's hard to love a girl
When she can't even
Swallow the right
Kind of
Matches
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 10:22 PM UTC
i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
*"uh oh, ****
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
1991
on live television
montel williams asks my father
*"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"*
1994
i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
1996
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
2013
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says *"why don't you joke
about something like your family?"*
so i say
*"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"*
i say *"what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"*
before he has a chance
to answer
i say *"1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and
leave"*
2014
every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
*"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."*
and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
When the sky meets the ocean,
the sun screams your name.
all you hear is the faint whisper of what used to be my voice against your chest.
at three in the morning, you woke up to the sound of me shattering your mother's vases.
you begged me to stay.
I broke a few plates and cut my throat on the gravel in my voice.
I slept with you the rest of the night anyway.
upon packing my bags I came across the letter you wrote me that compared my eyes to a storm.
i think i smudged the ink when i spilled jack daniel's all over your bed.
your t-shirt that goes just down to my thighs doesn't fit anymore. I wanted to give it back but it's still in the bottom of my suitcase.
when you dropped me off at my mother's house
she asked about you.
"how is she?"
I told her I didn't know who she was talking about.
we sat there and cried for a long time.
when my dad came home he saw me and smiled.
"I thought you'd never come home."
I just gritted my teeth and told him that home is long past gone.
I sleep in my bed alone, sometimes I sleep on the couch.
it's hell without you but red fire is better than blue.
last weekend you called me.
I thought I heard you say
"my arms are still open" but
it was probably just the ***** talking
my head spins without you
& it hurts to stand up.
I saw that post of you and her
she looks happy and Ive never
seen your eyes look so green.
I think she kissed you
but I dont think about it
when I saw you at the hospital
you looked at me funny.
"fancy meeting you here"
is such an ironic thing to say
while im lying in a cold bed;
****
they're all cold without you.
I told you about the shower I took,
how it should've been my last but
they made me shower this morning.
you held my hand
& it made me wonder
why I wasn't dead.
I guess the memories in
my blood didn't come out all the way.
my mom accidentally washed your t- shirt
& I didn't get mad
im glad you're gone
even if it looks like a hurricane
without you.
the story of abandonment gets longer every day
come home, I miss you
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.
for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?
the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.
no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.
so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.
hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.
instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son
I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC