If tomorrow never comes,
To my family what must I say?
Must I ask for forgiveness
For the mistakes of yesterday?

If tomorrow never comes,
To my friends what must I tell?
Must I assure them that
Heaven is much better than hell?

If tomorrow never comes,
To my foes what must I offer?
Must I serve some droplets
Of love on their plates during supper?

If tomorrow never comes,
To my beloved what must I do?
Must I speak honestly that
“A pity I’ve never known you?”

If tomorrow never comes,
To my unborn babies what must I choose?
Must I be regretful for
My ovaries are never used?

If tomorrow never comes,
To my world what must I shout?
Must I open my heart and
Let my feelings be out?

If tomorrow never comes,
To my Christ what must I give?
Must I give my whole being and
Trust that in Him everything I received?

Tick – tock! Tick – tock!
I never imagined that listening to the Hickory clock
Could be sensuous or ******.
Hah! Tick for the longing to reach one lover’s arms for caress
Tock for wanting to do heavenly things on this earth.

Ah! The glory of this lustrous life,
So full of hate, so full of love, so full of lust.
Tick – tock! Tick – tock!
Time itself is passion,
The waiting agony seeping through the body
Like a sweet toothache
Making way to the center of the being.

Squirming, not knowing what will be the next
Cookoo! Cookoo! Chimed the Hickory...
Ah! Is this what they call prolonging of pain?
Deliciously blind and white.
But what do I know?
I am still naïve with these feelings,
What do I know about it?
What do I know?

BECOMING CONSCIOUS AFTER EATING A YELLOW MOON**


yesterday I ate a yellow moon
as it rode low, and slowly
encountered a twilight sky.
it tasted like vanilla crunch.
but you know, eating the moon
gives you a headache,
like the kind you get if your face
was slammed against the wall,
then kicked in the gut
when you were down.
the kind of headache
I’ve had since I was three;
at least that is what I was told.
I can’t remember much
about those early days.
besides the headaches,
I have been deaf since ten
and I carry a limp as well
as a glass eye
from having philosophical
discussions with each cellar step
as I bounced down.
I now find it hard to open the cellar door
cause I swear I hear crying
coming from down there.
I know it must be me
sprawled on the blood soaked floor
and I think I might go crazy
if I saw myself.

~~~

you know what’s really crazy though?
for the longest time
I loved him; would follow him
do everything I could to please him.
bring him his pipe
or the newspaper
get him coffee.
except on those days
where his eyes were red
and he stank of ****. thenI would plead:
“oh daddy. don’t be mad at me.
please don’t hit me. no,
no, not mr. johnson, that
hurts so much.
I’ll be good. I promise.”

~~~

even now, I think I love him.
I never meant to push him back,
to knock him down the stairs
I guess if I had called
the ambulance right away
everything would have been okay.
but the judge said that it was wrong
to stab him so many times;
to cut off his johnson
and stick it in his mouth.
somehow though,
I never understood why.
it’s not like he begged
for mercy
and he never once cried!

~~~

I am home now,
back from another conversation
with electricity,
sitting in my room
at St. Mary’s starring blankly
at this huge, yellow moon.
as I savor its vanilla crunch,
I am trying to understand why
I feel like I am to blame?
trying to remember if I ever smile;
work up the courage to hate him.

(Written under this pen name)
~~redzone 10/29/02
Posted as Aztec Warrior 10.31.15

It is difficult to be a man,
For I am not a typical one.
It is hard for me to go on,
There’s a secret that pulls me.

I loathe when my memories strike,
They hit emotionally with might.
I struggle so much to survive,
In a world so deaf towards my cries.

I look at a He and my heart convulses,
For I recall a He who gave me kisses.
I was young, forced and naïve,
I fought but He was much stronger.

Society might tell that I’m gay,
For I let a man violated me in a way.
But I’m not a ***** and I’m sure,
I play a role for which others envy.

When I was a teen I met her,
I admired her even if she’s older.
I was then shy and very timid,
With mental and emotional scars.

I thought of her as a dear friend,
Then she turned to be my worst fiend.
One instance she forced herself on me,
And used things that hurt me so.

A girl’s tactics differ from the stronger ***,
Tears she used first and blackmail next.
She was cunning, sly and very clever,
She stole my pride and my dignity.

My fears now mixed with anger,
My determinations got bolder.
I still cry and sometimes get lonely,
Like any other victim I want to fight.

I can not shout to the whole nations,
For societies will scorn at my declamation.
Both sexes forgot that I have feelings too,
I am also made of flesh, bones and spirit.

I am not proud of what I become,
Within me clouding reasons try to calm.
My desire is to win this battle to the end,
I am capable of vulnerability like any human.

But where does my right begin?
This universe has compassion for women.
The likes of me are expected to be steel made,
Yet I have feelings too for I am just a man.