If I died today, tell me, who would care? As far as I can see, I’m not so special.
If I were to claim love for a person, who would accept it? And thus I stay crowded by thoughts of regrets in everything I do.
If I were to disappear tonight? Who would notice? Would I just be another milk carton mystery story, or would I actually have somebody desperate to find me other than obligated family?
When I say I care for a person, tell me, will they care back? Will I have their attention like they have mine or will it be another one-sided relationship?
When I get injured on a sharp edge, knife or otherwise, who will put a bandage on me and giggle at my clumsiness? Who would be concerned at all?
In my desperation to find my counterpart, I’ve missed many an opportunity with many a nice girl. Why? Why did I play with their hearts the same way mine was before? Why destroy a good soul?
In my desperation for attention, I’ve sliced through many an attention-needing associate, many a person more deserving of it than me. And for that, I’m truly sorry.
If I apologize for a sin, who would acknowledge it? Who would even notice the way I feel or the guilt on my face?
No one that I can see.

Our bodies pressed together as we danced the invisible square in the middle of the school hallway. Moving from side to side as the piano's melody infiltrated our ears through the headphones. We swayed slowly, softly, keeping with the pace of slow-quick-quick that was required for the box step. Her arms were around my shoulders, my arms rested on her hips as we swung slowly, softly, going about the hall as if it were a grand ballroom and us its only occupants. I looked her in the eyes, the emotion on my sleeves that were hugging her hips. She looked back, smiling as if she were enjoying herself as much as I was. I couldn't help it, I had to whisper to her, had to break the trance the music had put on us, but had to in such a way that the moment would be filled with no regret, filled with the trueness I had kept in my heart.
"I love you." I say, smiling as if I had no clue of how ugly my smile were, smiling as if I were happy with more than just my grades. Her eyes glistened against the shine of the over-head lights. She smiled her beautiful smile and took me into a euphoria that was so blissful that I imagined I felt heat rising to my face in a blush.
"I love you too."
And with those words spoken, she leans closer, arms running down the broad of my back and hooking there as she lay her head on my chest and slowly rock with me, easing from left to right, slowly making our way in a giant circle in the middle of the hallway. I knew this was it, I knew this was what I had been looking for: a feeling of love to replace the feelings of longing in my heart, the feelings of lonely in my soul.
Left, right, left, right. We swayed in unison, her hips matching mine as our circle broadened with the music of the piano. I kissed her forehead, prompting her to look up at me as if we were sending mutual signals. I lean into her, hands lightly swishing her hips a little further, pushing against her own momentum, and kiss her tender lips like I had never kissed before. This was what her love had done, this is what my longing had done, we were one in the same in a world that only matched stride with cheetahs. We were the difference, we were the exception to the world as we softly went about the hall rocking and rocking, lips matching and not mismatching for long periods of time.
And then the bell rang, stating that it was time to go to class. But we paid it no attention, we stayed where we would remain for only mere seconds before the herd of students could overtake us. She drops the earbud and grabs my hand.
"Please, for me, remember this moment. Remember the moment when two unlikely souls set each other free, the moment when the heavens looked at the both of us with favor and brought us a match in emotion." tears escaped her eyes.
"though it may be my last time seeing you like this, I shall always be here in spirit," She continues, "but don't hasten to bid me farewell, love. Please, take the punishments of this tardy and stay and dance with me. Just sway." and with that, I continue our sway, placing my hands back on the sides of her hips as the students walk around us.
And we swish, hips moving as we make our own music with our foot-falls, matching a rhythm that we both find pleasurous. Rocking and rocking, swaying and swishing. I lean toward her once more, bidding her farewell with just one last kiss. Closing my eyes as our lips connect, right hand coming from her hip to stroke her cheek.
But when I open my eyes, she's no longer there. I'm alone in a hallway as my schoolmates pass around me, strange looks shown evident in each face that passes. The second bell rings and I open the door to class just in time, tears escaping as I look around the room at those who could never understand what I had felt.
A love that was lost isn't a blessing in comparison to the feeling of never being loved, in fact, it is a curse. So I have always remembered my beautiful hummingbird as she was, a free spirit and a free soul, but a part of me that I can never retrieve again.
Is brea liom tu, forever and always.

In her beauty, she doesn’t see her looks.
In her intelligence, she doesn’t see her smarts.
In her swagger, she doesn’t see her appeal.
But the fact that I do is bugging me. I barely know you, don’t know your name or any of your light skinned tendencies. But in that same aspect we are close. Where are you, Ms. Magnificent? Where is the one I want to love? Peel your shyness back like wrappings on the gift I give you: the gift of heart.
I swear, I fall in love with her every time we converse. In the moments we mingle she is always who she is meant to be. She must be an arsonist, because she’s starting a burning in my chest and an ache in my intentions. Thus her powers could very well bring me to an end.
She’s an open book by all means, but only she can translate her pages. Only she can tell her story without giving any twists that she didn’t intend. She is an affection unlike any the word has ever seen.
Her eyes- brown by all accounts, seeing through the soul as if the soul were translucent, she sees deeper than microscopes can dive.
Her hair- steady changing color, but never ceasing to amaze: red, yellow, black, brown, blue, colors in a rainbow of deep concentration.
Her smile- captivating to say the least. I find myself wishing her the best at the most random times. Her personality is one that fits mine so closely that I’m curious. We are close in soul, so why not close in attention? Let me concentrate on her like she’s an assignment, let me love her like geeks and gaming systems. Let me know her like I know passwords and let the same be said of her about me.
What is a crush?
I admit, I feel squashed to admit this, but I’m falling as if sky diving, and she is my parachute. I’m once more questioning my own comprehension, could she be the next in the line from my heart? Could she be the inspiration of many a poem to come if I play my cards right? The answer lies only with the question, and the question lies with her.
What does she think? Is it that her mind and mine are on different planes of the oblivion of existence, or is it that I’ve blinded myself from any flaw of hers enough to reject even her own objections? How could she not see it, her grip on my unaware heart? How could she not see her beauty, as obvious as it is, or her interaction with a crowd of comrades who indeed love her deeply?
Sugar sweet cream colored craving, let us parlay poetic fantasy until we both run out of things to say, let us intimate until we both forget the meaning of the word and show an infatuation that brings jealousy into the hearts of those who witness. And once we are done, let us restart again and again until the nights fade and final goodbyes are in order.
Let us speak. Let us smile.
Let us love.
~Emily.

A special decision as if she’s being pondered. She’s a wonderful surprise to one who is scheduled.  
And she’s special to me.
I love her, Yes, I truly do. But I’m afraid she won’t feel the same. I’m afraid she’d deny me because of something else, or perhaps I’m inadequate like microwave meals. But the thought of me being so inadequate forces me to try to improve for some unseen reality.
What is my reality, though? I’m afeared of what I don’t understand, and yet, I don’t understand her and I’m so intrigued. What is it that’s happening in my brain? Is it that I’ve figured her subconsciously and can’t access it consciously without thinking of harder questions.
Can I call this Irony or can I call it fear? Can I call it infatuation or love or maybe even intrigue?
Or can I call it ridiculous and call it a day?
Figurative thought.

A good world is what we live in, but a racist country is what we are. Let’s admit it. Racism is the American way, it’s found itself in more than one faction of life.
Black children slaughtered in the streets by those supposedly trying to protect them: Police, others, “concerned citizens”, all there as an enemy to a people meant for peace.
And it’s remained that way for decades. Decades? Try centuries. Why for America not change her ways? Why for such a lost people be judged and labeled for their not knowing any better?
Why is it that a black boy in a school can be picked out of the crowd like cherries in a fruit cocktail, and be subjected to such redundant behavior? Why is it that dark isn’t seen as beautiful? Why is it that we catch hell like ***** in a baseball glove? And why won’t this world change?
My people, the good people, have been led astray, taking away our little progress and turning it against us like a machine of war. My people, the black people, have been taught the art of self hate from their former slave masters, we have been taught that the darker the uglier but the lighter the better, as it still shows to this day, and this mindset disgusts me.
And when I close my eyes, I see nothing but the faces of those killed, far too many to name, and yet even after years and years, no justice wrought and no tears spared from the eyes of family members. And yet the injustice continues where murderous policemen still roam the streets like hyenas looking for a fresh **** in a ghetto where nothing but torment already can be made.
Where is my peace?
Where is my brother’s peace?
Where is my sister’s?
Where are the leaders of my people with the same skin-tone, why are those available already sold out? Why am I being used even when I don’t know it? Why am I living in a hell made by a people whose whole purpose was to torment my ancestors.
Times have changed, customs accepted and new stereotypes made. Now anyone can say “*****” and it not seem racist because it’s the thing now. I’m sorry, my brotha, I had no idea such a thing could trend. Now ****** foreplay is considered dance, dry-******* your nuts off is considered a “trap dance” and this supposed trap is exactly what it’s called. But yet we don’t complain? Rise up, my black brothers, arise my young sisters. For we are at war with a beast of our own creation, and that beast is seeking to obtain our inner guts as a fulfilling meal if we don’t do anything about it.
Rest in peace, my fallen comrades, for as this war progresses, I will soon join you beyond the stars of the mind and under the ground of those who stomp to battle against a foe who challenges us all.
Washington 10.10.15