Many times I've loved,
And many times I've
Written about love.

Many times I've left,
And many times I've
Written about leaving.

I've loved with my
Heart in hand,
Blood pooling,
Words flying
Out of my mouth,
Crashing upon their skin
In an act of valor.

The same thing
I could say about leaving
Words sharp,
Striking like the edge of a storm,
Breaking upon the silence.

But it was just love,
And I wasn’t brave.
And it was just leaving,
And it wasn’t brave.

No te he tenido mucho,
pero ya siento tu ausencia.

Mis ojos recorren calles,
buscándote en cada esquina,

Ojos que conocieron
tus mejillas
mucho antes
que mis manos
tuvieron tus caderas,
ardientes en un mar
de carne y migajas de pan.

En tu piel,
color café con leche,
me ahogaba
mientras te observaba.

Y, si somos honestos,
amor mío,
nunca te he tenido,
ni cerca, ni lejos.

Tal vez,
nunca te tendré.
Pero cuánto te anhelo.

Te llevaste
las lluvias de mayo
y trajiste
flores de loto
a lagos ya rebosantes.

Sembraste girasoles
que se alimentan
de la luz
en tu sonrisa.

Te llevaste
el dolor de mis piernas
para que pudiera andar,
vagabundo,
bajo las sombras
de la luna llena
en tu pelo.

Amor mío,
hoy te tuve cerca,
pero te fuiste,
y no sé qué hacer
con mis ojos.

I feel more at home lately
Alone and lost,
Learning, despite
The agonizing
Disappointment
I have in myself.

Every once in a while,
I look in the mirror,
Observe the body that is,
And think of what once was.
It has changed so much
In the span of you
Not being here with me.

Your absence left
A time stamp,
Like a terrible
Natural disaster,
One everyone remembers.

I should have
Hidden you,
Like a bad cut,
A self inflicted burn,
Or a cat not meant to be inside
Because you've been told for ages
You are allergic.

You’re right.
I’ve become someone
My dad would be proud of,
And the very thing
That drove my mom insane.

But she’s learned to forgive,
Left hate buried
In the back of the cabinets,
Behind clean dishes.

She smiles like sunny days.
She hugs like she’s trying
To pull me back
Into her skin
Deep into who I was
Before time, chores,
Nine to fives, broken promises,
And you.

casts huge leaf shadows on dirt
and the mockingbird's mocking me.

"mockingbird,"
I put my hands in my pocket
and pretend a smile,
"some things you can't out run,
church bells and a wedding dress,
funeral processions and baptisms,
the cop car radio,

she was so beautiful in her wedding dress,"

I'm pointing my finger up at the mockingbird,
"so I'm a few steps ahead of you in heartache,

it was a toss of the dice,"I tell the bird,

"I threw a handful of rice."

"so don't look sad at me, bird.
everyone gets hurt."

and on her branch in the sycamore tree
the mockingbird's crying to me...

"I'm a few years ahead you...
Sweet One, lonely bird.

I've walked through fire,
stared into the wall of shadow and sorrow
into the cold silence of tomorrow.

I hear what you're telling me, Dear One,
loves been a little ******* you, too,

and there in illusion lies the danger
so please be kind, my friend,

the sorrows that never seem to fade away
become the grey, dark sea,
and sunlight through the Sycamore tree.

I’ve been enjoying
wandering thrift stores,
finding clothes I never thought
I’d wear before.

Everyone rummages
through hand me downs,
worn jeans, washed-out shirts
and I rummage too,
the scent of cigarettes
lingering on my fingertips,
cheap cologne
leaving hickeys on my neck.

This city has seen me
turn into a better man,
or maybe just a man.
I hope I’ve been better.

Outside, I drive
through avenues of skyscrapers,
no left turns, only right.
I envy them,
their grandeur,
how they bask in the afternoon sun,
shiny and unbothered.

They’re cared for,
with workers dangling high,
cleaning windows
on the 9th, maybe 10th floor.
They’re proud,
unshaken.

If I were as much man
as they are skyscrapers,
maybe things would feel lighter,
easier on the shoulders.

But then again
they haven’t been loved.
Of course not.
They are no one.

And there’s where I have the advantage.