The low yellow
moon above the
Quiet lamplit house.

Abraham Lincoln is my nam[e]
And with my pen I wrote the same
I wrote in both hast and speed
and left it here for fools to read

You are young, and I am older;
    You are hopeful, I am not—
Enjoy life, ere it grow colder—
    Pluck the roses ere they rot.

Teach your beau to heed the lay—
    That sunshine soon is lost in shade—
That now’s as good as any day—
    To take thee, Rosa, ere she fade.

Abraham Lincoln,
His hand and pen:
He will be good but
God knows When.

I'm still young and I'm still learning.
Still learning how to go 25 in a neighborhood.
don't wanna **** no body, don't wanna **** time.

I got places to be. still haven't learned the quickest way home, or the longest way for when you're in the passenger seat, because talking to you feels a lot like opening my front door and being greeted by the smell of a warm welcome.

I'm still learning how to decorate my room, but I've put the dead flowers in jars and I'm down to one floral pillowcase now so I guess you can call that progress.

I haven't quite discovered enough large words with large meaning or enough small words with large meaning or anything above, below, or in between.

I still burn my wet hair in my straightener since I don't have a clue how to manage time, still undercook pasta, and fill the blender too full.

can't get my eyebrows even the first time, but **** I'm not a miracle worker. I'm still learning.

trying to grasp the idea of being outgoing. trying to act like I totally didn't cry trying to order Wendy's chicken nuggets one time because normal people can talk to other normal people without feeling like someone's tuggin' at their throat.

still learning how to eat cheetos puffs without looking like I stuffed my hand into well, cheetos puffs.

I read up on government and politics but to be real I don't give a **** so we'll skip it.

I'm still learning how to trust, how to hold your hand tight enough, how to kiss you with enough force but not too much. how to look at you without showin' what i'm thinkin'. how to look at you when you look at me like you're about to say that you're in love with me.

I'm still learning how to love so you gotta **** some time. go 25 like I'm a neighborhood children are playing in. darling, let's take this slow.

"All lives matter!"

...Yelled the Jew before he entered the burner..
Said the slaves, marching with Turner..
murmured, the young Aztec girl ***** by a pervert..
sobbed, the young Taliban, in the shop where they lured her.

All lives matter,

...Wrote, a Japanese man while he attended a camp..
preached a Muslim teacher when they made fun of her stamp..
sang a Haitian boy, starving..it was more of a chant..
funny how you can eat turkey, Native Americans CANT.

All Lives Matter..

said the Muslim grandfather, just catching a plane..
said the young white women, enlisted in the army for change..

I say all lives matter, with pride and have my fist out...
but with no papers..according to Trump ill be kicked out..

my life matters, all lives matter..
but isn't it sad...?
its not the white thing to say...but some lives never have.


-afj

I can teach you how to be alone, yeah, how to be alone without feeling too lonely.
ya see if you get used to a twin sized bed, it's uncomfortable with more than one person in it.
easy.
and if you wear enough rings on each finger they start to feel like fingers themselves, in between your fingers, those bones.
the kind of bruises you can only receive after a long day of adventuring in the trees behind your neighborhood.
by yourself so when you fall on a pile of branches there's no one to laugh at you.
and if there's no one to laugh at you i'm there's no reason to be embarrassed.
yeah, and you can be quiet.
or you can speak without anyone watching how your mouth moves when you talk to the birds, or the dirt, or those branches.
and back at home there's only room for one more pair of shoes on the tray that catches the mud.
it's perfect.
you don't gotta confuse toothbrushes when there's only one on the sink, and you'll run out of shampoo a lot slower.
spend less money on groceries.
spend more money on you.
every shirt you want, get it.
you don't got no one to go home to.
no one to make breakfast for or sit next to while watching the sunrise.
no, it's just you and the world every day baby.
you and netflix.
you and everything but anyone else.
you, and you, and oh how you would love to focus on anything but you.
anyone but there ain't no one.
and you start to realize blankets make you less warm when you're under them by yourself.
but that's okay because you got hot chocolate, or chai, or coffee but you gotta make it for yourself and sometimes you're just too cold to warm yourself up.
and loneliness is chills.
straight shivers.
right down your neck.
your spine.
she's a bruise you can only get from exploring.
a full bottle of whiskey.
or on occasions one that's completely empty.
but you have a twin sized bed, yeah you don't have the room.
so you go on now and you tell loneliness,
to leave you alone.

“Listen here kid, have a seat.
Let me tell you about
The family.”*

You can choose your friends
But you can’t choose
Your family….

…and apparently you can’t choose
your career either.

This is dedicated to
my brother in crime
The younger brother
With stronger
Morals and values
Than mine.

The family is broken,
And your older brother is broke
And in the eyes of a distant father
You know we are both jokes

We are not prodigies
We are not straight A students
We are small town oddities
And some would say we are ruined

We were born into this life.
We were born into financial comfort
Bathed in upper middle class stability
Taught racism is acceptable as long
As we keep it to ourselves, and laugh
As if we are not serious.

We learned that as we grow up, dreams become schemes

We were raised believing we would succeed.
And success is defined by money.

The monetary system is god.
I will be the doctor
You will be the lawyer
And because the system isn’t flawed
We are.

Money is not good, money is god.
I’ve spent a lot of god on beer.

So when we watch our bloodline bicker
Like bad kids in sandboxes,
When we watch adults undermine
Each other’s “parenting skills”
Remember,

You did not chose this
You were born into this.

And as the age old argument
Of genetic versus environment
Rages on like arguments
Over furniture and kitchenware
Remind yourself
It’s not an argument.
Its your environment.

Today my little brother’s heart was broken
And his dreams were shattered like a
Malicious marriage
Divorced, and separated,
By god.

My little brother will not be an RCMP officer
And if he doesn’t know it yet,
This is the best thing to ever happen to him.

Just because your eyes aren’t apparently good enough
They have never stopped you from seeing right from wrong
They are wrong.
You are more then alright.

Cops are more crooked than the criminals they can’t catch
So whatever you do, don’t catch flack
For not having a backup plan
You turn 17 tomorrow, man…
Kid.
Be one.
For a kid can be anything.

You can race san dunes in the desert.
You can rebuild muscle cars and motorbikes.
You can make unique one of a kind furniture.
You can open a restaurant, even a bar.
You can be the next big sensation in Country music, or rap.
Or both.
You will live. You will smile
And you will make other do the same.

Brother, we can do anything.
Hell, when our parents die,
Miserable and alone,
We will inherit their throne
all of their god.

And we can take their god,
Design ourselves some superhero outfits
Break laws in order to fix them
We can grow and sell dope by donation
And make the difference
That neither our parents
Or the police
Are able to do.

I’m proud to share blood with you.
We are superheroes.
We are gods.
We are brothers in crime.

Dark floats out into the silence
Crashing on the banks of Prometheus's wings
Opening a velvet-silk curtain.
To a fabric of shadowed stars
Cloudy fingers sew it clean
While invisible hands stitch pearls back in.
A ghost flits on the hallway stair
Reaching for the last shafts of sun
Tumbling off a silent dream
Blind as black with a lullaby hum
Filling the gaps in an empty line
Somewhere between dusk and dawn.