it's 1am here
and i can't fall asleep,
don't know of it's all the coffee
or threat of the upcoming week.
but i've talked to my sister, read my book--
i'm out of things to do.
so i guess i'll lie awake
and write some more about you.
we have pictures together on my wall,
places i'd like to go with you, my bucket list cries;
every pop of blue around the room
reminds me of your eyes.
every quote and poem and lyric,
they all sing the same tune
about a boy a girl writes about
every night by the light of the moon.
the letters you've written me
are tucked safely next to my bed,
and i still take them out to read them
even though they're memorized in my head.
maybe it's your handwriting
or the way you try with all your might
to tell me through each word
that it's gonna be alright.
so i'm kinda sorry that
everything reminds me of you,
i guess i'm just in love with
everything you do.

The moment you are about to quit

Is normally the moment near short of a miracle

Breaking down the walls
Can be very hard....

If you break it down
Brick by brick

You have made progress
That many people will see

It takes times
To release the demons

Make the wall
Come crashing down

But if you let us
Into your hearts

Then the true
                         YOU
                                  Will be found....

I'm so sorry. I understand that racism is not cool & in fact I kinda love people who are different; but the words, not the way, old timey racists
talked are colorful as hell & sometimes they didn't even mean it; I've read accounts of writers being completely misunderstood;  
Brett Hart wrote about Chinese immigrants to bring light to their problems but it turned into a racist rallying cry & led to riots;
Stephen Foster was an abolitionist who thought his songs brought awareness to the plight of Africans in America;
another writer & artist wrote a novel to highlight the Harlem Renaissance called ****** Heaven & was pilloried;
these guys had the best intentions but someone like Twain or Conrad use the same racist terms & it's classic literature; Idk why, so I use those terms when I think they add color to a intrinsically racist situation which is not often. they don't come out of the blue cuz I'm not a racist I just like old timey words.

Sometimes, when the air gets too cold between my lips,
I bury them into the palms of my hands.
And sometimes when I forget I am not alone,
I begin to let go and let go and let go.
My body begins to echo across the rocky walls of my world.
Bashing and clashing back and forth. A blodied body begging for more, no safe word in this unkept, ruthless condition I have brought upon myself. I lay here on stone, on rocks shaped like shark fins breaking through skin.
I begin to end.

Spinning 'round us 'till the end,
As if Earth is the center of the universe,
Always watching the mess we've made,
Hearing my cracking voice, ending the verse.

Sometimes I see it from my window,
"Wrong side of the house," I whisper,
While silver light is broken by willow,
Which only stands there and it's leaves whimper.

This massive body on the night sky,
So bright, but not from its own shine,
Reminds me I have to try,
'Cause my life is not defined.