The wave does not ask before she crashes into your sand castle.
She tumbles ahead with a sort of mocking indifference.
Perhaps you brought both your buckets and your shovels
But her force comes from the changing tides.

You smelled different when I kissed you tonight,
A sort of sterile smell,
Sweet but foreign.
Your cries and your feet swollen with pain.
Your hunger is gone, at least mostly so.
Your eyes betray you
They share the secrets you’ve never told
They speak about the pain you’ve tried to hide
And they tell anyone who is listening about your broken spirit.
You’re living for us
And we for you.
We fake a smile and kiss you softly while our minds trail off in thoughts of never touching you again.
You are not gone yet
But we have quietly begun the procession.

It seems appropriate that today,
the sun stay hidden.
Because when the sun is out,
it's impossible to feel complete sadness,
it's hard to feel invisible and alone.
For the sun brings with it,
the trees, and the leaves, and the birds, and the breeze.
The sun has a way of warming your bones,
kissing you gently and smiling softly.
Today, it is appropriate that the sun not come out
because if it were around,
I could not stand to be so sad and lost and alone.
But somehow the sun knew to stay away
because this feeling is too great a weight
to be able to burn away like a cloud.
It is appropriate that the sun remain hidden today
because only the grey sky could possibly match this feeling.

We've had our share of low points over the years, that is
not to say this roller coaster is not shared.
But we never compare tickets, we keep them close
So no one ever talks about the ride, not really.

And just as the mechanical beast spun around the corner,
at a point low enough to touch the ground,
we caught glance of another.

We could point at it and shame it for it's color,
it's chipped paint and leaning axel.

What a ridiculous looking roller coaster,
those poor people, we thought from our pedestal,
They look so unhappy.

I used to be scared of you
Never let them in
But now I embrace you
And can’t keep you within

Your briny slug trails
Trace down my cheeks
You’re one type of language
When out my soul speaks.

Just the other day,
you laughed so hard your eyes
almost completely closed and the tone of
your laugh peaked into it's highest octave.

It was one of those uncontrolled laughs that happen when
you are being savagely tickled, the kind that
escapes from deep in your body, gasping for air,
for life.

But my hands were not on you, the laugh
happened anyway. I am Jack's overwhelming sigh of relief.
It was reassurance,
it was nice, that you still laugh that way,
that I can still make you laugh that way.

I can stop holding my breathe.

Yes I feel it too,
The twoness that defines
my role and expectation
cemented in their minds.

Yes I feel it too,
the twoness that is there
but my twoness doesn't keep me
from freely breathing air.

Yes I feel it too,
the twoness that burdens me
Though being paid less is not the same
as being pinned down by his knee.

Yes I feel it too,
the twoness he wrote about
My double conscious thinking
but pale skin is my clout.

Because Yes I feel it too
as a woman I am less,
but if I get pulled over,
my life is not in distress.

I can't imagine your kind of twoness,
what is constantly on your mind,
when you see both red and blue lights
flashing from behind.

For how is it you can be
both black and American
when life is always fleeting
because the color of your skin.

Mary said it best,
"one day you finally knew,
what you had to do, and begun..."
Every piece of past pieced to
zoom out, further out,
until it comes into focus.
The bigger picture for you to
cling on to. If the devil
is in the details, I have
lead my life under his red guidance.

In a world unlike the one you hail,
from the time your eyes awake and rise,
up until the dark takes up all the space,
between is the time to which you feel out
Side is real enough to touch and feel
It still yet remains a scene that feels unlike
Your own imagination it finds the magic it sought
out of this world into the hopeful lies waste away
the day has come to an end and the sun is down
under your skin, your bones, your blood you know
there must be magic because if not the why
would God create our lids to open up each morning?

And frankly, for that matter,
I'm tired of wanting to fit into the vision
that others seem to burden us with.

You barely even know me, I
have to look at the screen to summon your name.
But your opinion falls out of your mouth,
like we've been friends for years and
you couldn't wait to share the good news.

I don't like it, any of it,
not because of you, perhaps just a touch,
but because you know nothing about us.
The devil is in the details and,
so is that of the reflection of love.

And now we have the weight of it all on our shoulders,
to carry up the mountain and walk with on the beach.
Hands clasped, or not, the weight is a cloud of expectancy
that lingers over us.
Tainted.

The Wind had already begun to stir
When your heads finally looked up
It’s as if I appeared out of thin air
The sounds of the emerald thunder
Elusive like your paper thin shoes.

When you kissed me this morning,
it all seemed to melt away with the rising sun.
I couldn't sleep last night
unless that too was a dream.
Tossing, tossing, turning to stare
into the eyes of oblivion.

Can't get it off my mind.
Not sure if I care or care because
our secrets are now shared. Do
they whisper across the room,
pointing with only their eyes and ill will.

"Some would say you're cooler because you don't."

But no one really says anything, to our faces.

Perhaps my inner monologue will subside with the setting sun.

I wanted to turn off today
because saving the world is exhausting.
It was the same exhaustion that plagued your face last night,
in between spoonfuls from your indistinguishable plastic red cup.

What a privilege to be able to save the world
instead of being the one who needs saving.

I think that's what drives me to leave,
the feeling that, no matter where I turn,
comfort means ignorance, willfully blind.

I don't know if it'll be any different anywhere else,
but what if he never explored the Giverny?
We would be lost without the Water Lillies.

Today I got the mail you had sent.
It was intertwined with the thin
paper of monotony and bills.
The letters all yelled in little voices,
shaded from travel but glowing.

I first looked for any order
but there was known. I
couldn't keep them locked anymore
so I began with the front.

My previous name, a previous life
brought to the surface in all capitals.

My memory reel began,
and so did my tears. We
had some great times, you and I,
before there was anyone else.

There it goes,
It's not mine anymore.
I made a mistake, that part is true,
but you grabbed hold of it and shook the life out of it.
Honestly, it wasn't even that fun while it lasted, mostly
it was exhausting. I haven't yet decided
if I let this happen or if you made it happen.

But really either way, I
don't care. So what, dumb things happen all the time.
No one was complaining before.
In fact,
they will all already be there. So it'll just be the four of us, miserable.

Remaining is the question,
do you suffer, or do I?

Only the most vulnerable were present
The strongest had left with the sun.
The rolling hills were many shades of green and brown,
painted in detail was the earth and the sky.

The contrast of the flag
bold and unforgiving
would have waved above the camp
while it whistled a soft eerie song of lies.

The signs were all there
and spread throughout
but she did not speak his language
the language of the weak.

And as the men rolled in,
drunk with power and artillery
His eyes spoke of sadness and self hatred
while his body continued on to find worth.

We had an agreement
and I followed the rules
But alas, you danced through the night
moonlight illuminated the trail of destruction.

Even you knew it went to far
Passing the plains I too,
wish I could have hidden in the river banks
to avoid the surprise of the massacre.

The clouds would have bare witness
along with Sol, Sinfeild, Tuna, and the like
while betrayal slid his fingers along her curves
or ripped the innocence from the world.

The white flag of peace
carelessly splattered with red
would only be remembered and reminded
years later, recalled.

As I looked at those hills
my heart grew cold and unforgiving
and felt the spirits of the betrayed
all around, making it hard to take in air.

And somehow, I,
I am the one who must forgive
like those that have forgiven from the past
because hate in a heart leaves no room for love.

But what is love
what is peace
but an ideal
waiting to be betrayed by you.

Lately, I've been very grateful for the rain
It's given me the time to not water you.
It's given me the space to excuse.
It's not held me accountable.
It's made me more tired.
It's dripped it's drops so that I can ignore you.

Lately, I've been more grateful for the rain
because when otherwise, would I have time to dig this hole?

When she walks into a room,
she can go totally unnoticed
or steal every ounce of oxygen in the place.
Her beauty is natural and imperfect,
coexisting in the same space to play tricks on the mind.
I've seen her both love and hate equally as hard,
and I know for a fact she exists in two places at once.
I can see what her eyes see and hear what her mind speaks.
The stories they tell are different, but sometimes all the same.
She lives her two lives alike while they themselves remain separate.
She does not chose to pick her favorite of the two,
for what purpose would that serve her?
She will always be apart of both,
one does not exist without the other.
To sentence her to live singularly would be
all but a punishment onto it self,
For what is the present without the mind
and what is the mind without the present?

It’s nice the way we all can see the trees,
Even if we can’t always see the difference.
The greens maybe a sort of color evolved
and we view the trunks as just things to climb.
But that does not dull the rainbow’s spectrum,
Perhaps that just changes the colors being seen.

At this point
It’s a matter of looking in the mirror
Finding the deepest part of your own soul,
Far deeper than the depps of the sea
Less tangible than the ocean floor.
And harnessing it.

Turns out, it’s not about money,

and it’s not about who you know.
Truly, it can be done without any real skill at all.
Like showing up on time for your life.

Sure, you can tell yourself you’re already late
But that’s so predictable, you’ve
Read that story a hundred times over,
Let’s pick something else.

You know what it’s going to take
To end up where you want to be.
So, are you going to do it?
Why not try because if all else fails,
At least you’ll have done what you set out to do.

They aren’t any more disruptive to the eye than any of the other buildings,
Human shelters mingle with the bark of the trees that line the dirt road like they have always been.
Written into history, together, man made and natural things.
Because nature's only language is song, everything else is mans.
The curious eye doesn’t skip a beat.
But your wall stands for so much more,
The white color a stanch contrast to the warm hues
that have grown up with the land.
Because we understand walls,
But what, we’d ask, are you protecting against?
Or who?

There is shimmer in those aspen leaves,
it begins with wind’s whisper midday.
And no matter what you might say or feel,
the flowers grow wild anyway.

Lately I haven't been sleeping well,
I do not have the time,
My gram never read me the bible
but she planted in my mind
Ideas of living easy,
Brand names became divine,
it's not about the things or goods,
instead it's peace of mind.
If you cannot understand,
I'll try to speak to you
Philippians 4:8
says "whatever is true,
noble, right, pure, lovely,
worthy of your praise,
these things should consume your thoughts
all through out your days.
So get dressed in Sunday's best,
it's the christian thing to do,
but while you're reading scripture,
I won't be in the pews.
Because I won't just sit and wait
to cash in on peace of mind,
While everyone one else' sleepin,
I'll be on the grind.

Why does poetry often taste of wine,
it's scripture mature and somehow divine.
Cloaked in time,
Each fruit note hidden behind
the words that don't come to mind
cheapened by childish rhyme.
Caught in a dance, intertwined
between two worlds, yours and mine.
Sometimes I think poetry is but a serpentine,
a recollection we must unwind.
Under beats and rhythm we are confined,
Syllables and feeling attempting to align.

Instead, I think I'll write for human kind.

You were like an open book,
your life was a series of mixed messages,
Draped in the sheer silk of tragedy.
I don’t remember you, all of you,
whether that’s my fault or circumstance,
But I do remember moments,
Specifics, things that were uniquely yours.

I remember the roses,
I don’t know if I’ll ever forget.
They smelled like a fresh reminder
I didn’t give you enough credit.
It was not the roses, it was the detail.
The white door probably squealed when you opened it,
Mystery and illusiveness gone in an instant.

I never asked you how that all went,
Or when you actually did it.

My mind casts out nets when wondering
And from time to time,
It’ll catch you in its net and you will be brought to the surface.
I’ll remember you hated basketball,
But we’re always pointed in that direction.

I’ll remember your brother, your mom.
I never even asked you their names.
But I know them
And their story, your story,
Is now apart of my minds ocean.

And the way the end happened,
Your aunt called me…
And never called me back.
Why? What exactly did she say?
I can’t recall. It was all so… real.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it for a while.

The buzz of the fly trapped in an open house.
An artificial cylinder tips in the whisper of the open windows.

Three months of one sided conversations.

The day the door wider ajar with anticipation.

A disturbance like a celebration interrupted.
Darkness locks behind, webs but a vail.
Silence a future unknown.

And the best I could do
Was do as I had done the day before
So I continued to go, I continued to move,
But I forgot to breathe.
And when I looked up, I saw the white of your eyes shimmer from the flames and the terror that accompanied.
What do I say when she tells me she’s scared, what can I even say?
That nothing matters?

Who in the hell set it up like this?
And why in the **** do we have to listen?
My sister said no but holds the hand of her female flesh.
And she is not to blame,
Her choices are logic and practical
But at what point do we get out of our own way?

And so I shut off
And realize that has been my move lately to deal with reality.
Blue lights and blank emotions
The winter breeze swings the new planters on the patio.
The sweet potatoes wake me up and the pomegranates continue to amaze,
Growing more and more ruby as the summer days turn into early autumn evenings.

And although the caterpillars  transformation is covered in thick construction dust and the ground continues to shift,
I can’t help but feel hopeful
I am spring
We are spring.