Our first date involved you shoving your tongue down my throat and i don’t know if it’s because you couldn’t get enough of me or you couldn't get rid of the taste of her.

The warmth of his body against mine.
The gentle touch of his fingers on my skin.
His left thumb slowly dragging across my bottom lip, chin, and neck, delicately being placed above my collarbone.
His index drawing invisible infinities on my shoulder.
Middle, resting ever so lightly after a night filled with lust.
On his ring finger, a wedding band, similar to mine.
His pinkie, keeping all of its promises over the years no matter how small.
Each finger playing a different role,
All intertwined with mine now.
An innocent touch.

Worth the wait.

The walls are closing in and i hear my demons knocking at the door.
The screeching of the shadows and the sirens are much louder than before.
I sworn myself to secrecy but the secrets are not mine to keep,
and my mouth will keep on running until i run out of gasoline.
My body is a temple but i let the princess down when i lent the key to her palace out to the public.

If i were to be honest,
I'm scared of who i have become.
And if i weren't on this **** medication,
it'll seem i could finally find somebody who would love me for just me,
and not some drugged up version of a chemical imbalance.
I thought i was perfect before.

I guess not.
Nothing ever happens like I planned,
and that's the way life planned it.
And if i think right,
he will leave me once again,
and that's what he intended.

But if he comes back to me,
what was will never be and what will be
will never be what it was once before.

If i were to be honest,
I'm not sure if i could handle the disappointment i set myself up for
months before our reunion.
Tell me how it feels to **** me once again with your words.
Smother me slowly, and cover me completely with the flowers that you picked on our first date.
Those of which have never died
just like my love for you.

But your feelings have wilted with the seasons.
You come and go as you please,
and i am just the fool who believed them,
the lies you sold to me in the
bouquet of the week.

All her life she avoided empty spaces only to die with a sign in place of her heart that flashes 'VACANCY'.

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

My tombstone would read tragedy. But you were no Romeo, and Juliet was not me.
You didn't have to take your life to make me want to end mine.
All you had to do was leave the first time.
Your grave would be dug deep to make up for your shallow heart.
How does it feel when your words make your daughter hang like the art on the walls in the house you left her in last.
How does it feel knowing she can't get passed her own past that you've helped make worse.
How does it feel to take away the pleasure of her first love being her first.

The only gift you gave her was the habit of flinching when others touch her body because she thinks it's you coming back to finish what you started.
She can't bear to look people in the eyes because she can see her own pathetic reflection.
Instead, she glances at their hands to see if they're made for affection rather than being strong enough to hold a grip around her throat like a noose.
It's hard for her to remember a time before the abuse.

She was so young when she learned to hold her breath in presence of a man in fear of reminding him she was there.
A sitting duck with nothing but hope for the drugs to keep him calm but the high never lasted that long.
My mother thought it was a good idea to bring him back into my life.
I think it hurts more when they know what they're leaving behind but i don't mind.
Because being left twice never felt so nice.