Tracing the shadows behind your smile
Smelling the pain that bore your demons
Seeing the heart that masks your soul
Watching your gaze mesmerize
Observing the depth of honest emotion
Beneath the face that lights the world
Still, it is your kiss that offers your greatest truth

I will hold you
Like the sun
Holds the moon
And the ocean
Holds the sky.

Let me be the string that holds
The kite of your
Deepest dreams.

Quick as sand through a hole
Collecting down further
To the whole
They fall to preach
Of a time now spent
Still a bit left
Not enough to repent
Pray my sand leaks out
Through a crack
Or shattered glass
I need not know
How long I'll last
A moment here or there
Of hidden joy
Go out with a bang, dear
Don't obsess of time wasted
Can't go back
The sand has risen
And all you are to do
Is to let yourself be pulled down
The constant state of motion
Not the wait from beginning to end
You're just wasting more sand
And now I'll try
To spare some of mine
My time is filled
With other's sands all of the time
So why not share what could be refined?
My hourglass shape
Shows my time
On my arms and in my mind
I've spilt some sand that wasn't mine
Living longer is simply my crime
So let me fall
And I'll fall right past
I need not know
How long I'll last

I'm white.
I don't know what it's like
to have a black son
and wonder if he'll get shot
on a walk down the block
because his skin
camouflages him
into the night.

I am white.
I don't know what it is
to fear shots
from the gun barrels of the cops
hired to protect and serve
"us" from "them"
thick boots stomping the block--

cops more **** than Trayvon,
more **** than Mike,
more **** than the pre-teen
with a BB gun
robbed of his life.

I am white.
I don't know how it feels
to bleed out in the streets,
the fruit of my veins
soaking into scorched tar,
my still-open eyes seared
by the August sun.

I don't know how it feels
to lie there, dead,
an echo of ancestors
dangling from trees,
from light poles,
sunk into the Tallahatchie
with barbed wire and a cotton gin fan.

I am white.
Our history is filled with pale devils
enslaving races,
seizing lands,
killing millions--

so if someone's going to get shot,
maybe it ought to be one of us.

I regret
that I cannot write this
poem
because
I'm bleeding out at the shoulder
and I'm not left-handed-- I can't
write this poem
because I'm short-
circuiting and
stunned. I
can't write
this
poem because
there are no words
for this thing
I never thought I'd
fall victim to--

   the pen in my hand
   feels like a gun and
   I'm going to shoot this page to ****--

this ******-up therapy,

dear Poetry, I QUIT--

because
there's not enough
blood
left to fill my
pen

Forever a  Poet  and  You
will just be another story
I will write about

There's no point in loving
or even liking
a girl like me.
A girl with gashes
on her thighs
and thin, white lines
up her arms;
who won't let you **** her
until you turn the lights off;
who you might lose
at the drop of a hat
because I'm not very good
at keeping myself alive.

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.