Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never go home again.
My room will sit unused,
A capsule frozen in time,
A snapshot of how I was.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my dog again.
She will sit at the front door
Waiting for me and wondering,
Why I never came home.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never graduate from high school.
My yearbooks will sit stacked
Stopped short of their goal,
Missing years that should have been.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my mom again.
She will sit distraught,
Planning a funeral
For a child taken from her.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my friends again.
They'll sit together, missing me.
One empty seat among them,
A constant reminder of their loss.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my little sister again.
She will sit through high school
Knowing I can't guide her through,
That she has to figure it out alone.

If I die in a school shooting
My school will be stained.
Pools of students lives will sit,
Blood tattoos on the brick structures,
Marks of death ground into it.

If I die in a school shooting
Everyone will wear black.
They'll send their thoughts and prayers
To a town marred by death,
Forever to be the home of a shooting.

If I die in a school shooting
Will the world change?
Or will I become one of hundreds  
Of kids who have to die?
What will it take?

If things continue this way
Children will have to live in fear.
They'll look over their shoulders
Always worried and wondering,
If they'll die in a school shooting.

head pounding
my mind is on you
that disguised smile
cruel fingertips
leave me alone

Lately
I don’t feel close
to poetry.

It feels elusive.
Unfamiliar.
Once it spoke to me.
But now it’s mute.

It sits back
and doesn’t look
at me.

If I call out
it doesn’t hear.

Lately poetry is
like that demon
I used to want
to reappear.

milky toes swore she
would only date white
men, preferably Irish,
who would beat her up;
young actress arriving
at casting calls w/ two
black eyes & getting
the gig for her method

Wake up momma, turn your lamp down low
Wake up momma, turn your lamp down low
You got no nerve baby, to turn Uncle John from your door
I woke up this morning, I had them Statesboro Blues
I woke up this morning, had them Statesboro Blues
Well, I looked over in the corner, and Grandpa seemed to have them too
Well my momma died and left me
My poppa died and left me
I ain't good looking baby
Want someone sweet and kind
I'm goin' to the country, baby do you want to go?
But if you can't make it baby, your sister Lucille said she want to go
(And I sure will take her)
I love that woman, better than any woman I've ever seen
Well, I love that woman, better than any woman I've ever seen
Well, now, she treat me like a king, yeah, yeah, yeah
I treat her like a doggone queen
Wake up momma, turn your lamp down low
Wake up momma, turn your lamp down low
You got no nerve baby, to turn Uncle John from your door
Well I've been out walking
I don't do that much talking these days
These days, these days I seem to think a lot
About the things I forgot to do, for you
And all the times I had a chance to
Well I've had a lover
I don't think I'll risk another these days
These days, these days I seem to be afraid
Live the life that I've made in song
But it's just that I have been losing, so long
These days I sit on the corner stone
Count the time in quarter tones of ten, my friend
And now I believe I want to see myself again
These days I sit on the corner stone
Count the time in quarter tones till ten, my friend
Please don't confront me with my failure
I'm aware of them
I've been run down
And I've been lied to
And I don't know why
I let that mean woman make me out a fool
She took all my money
Wrecked my new car
Now she's with one of my good time buddies
Drinkin' in some cross town bar
Sometimes I feel
Sometimes I feel
Oh like I've been tied
To the whipping post
Well tied to the whipping post
Oh tied to the whipping post
Good lord I feel like I'm dyin'
My friends tell me
That I've been such a fool
And I have to stand there and take it baby
All for lovin' you
Well I drown myself in sorrow
As I look at what you've done
But nothin' seems to change
The bad times stay the same
And I, oh I can't run
Sometimes I feel
Sometimes I feel
Like I've been tied
To the whipping post
Oh tied to the whipping post
Oh tied to the whipping post
Good lord I feel like I'm dyin'
Oh good lord I feel like I'm dyin'
Sometimes I feel
Lord sometimes I feel
Oh like I've been tied
To the whipping post
Oh tied to the whipping post
Oh no tied to the whipping post
Good lord I feel like I'm dyin'
Oh good lord I feel like I'm dyin'

There was an old person in black,
A Grasshopper jumped on his back;
When it chirped in his ear,
He was smitten with fear,
That helpless old person in black.