It is okay to hurt
It is okay to fall
like a pile of ashes
to the ground

but my dear

in the morning
you must rise
you must open
your walls again

you must never
give up on you
and above all else
you must remember

it doesn't have to be tomorrow
not even the day after
or the next after that

and you must remember
that these things
take time

it is okay to
open up to people
right away
it is okay
to be cautious
since you have
known this hurt before

but don't let that
stop you from
living beautifully

and it is okay
to fall in love
with hands that are
no longer his

but don't let that
make you afraid
to give your all

and it is okay
for these things
to take time..

your ruins
may leave you
feeling empty

but my dear

there is so much
life left in that
Colosseum crumble
he left abandoned

rebuilding will come
but please remember

           -Rome wasn't built in a day

They really want us silenced
The sound of our screams to go unheard

They really want us jobless
Our children going hungry

They really want us dead
Our blood painting the ground below their feet

They really want girls like me
To be envious of their blonde-haired daughters

They really want our brothers
In chains, behind bars

They really want us silenced
But I will scream.
I will demand to be heard.

Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath

Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.


Jan 6, 2013