from miles away i can see you erasing me.
you might not feel it, but i do.
i know you are.
it always goes this way.

from miles away i can see you erasing me,
and i want to shout at you, to tell you to stop,
but i have always been quiet in the moments when it would matter most to be loud.

i wish i could go long without love.

i will never ask for a second chance because you would then ask when you ever gave me a first one.
because you would break me down.
so erase me.

this is burning bridges still being built;
this is the familiar taste.
i wish i could go long without love. i wish it could have been different.

are you content watching the flames?

this is being sorry.
this is not knowing what to say.
i never know what to say.
i wish i could go long without love but i can't.

from miles away i can see you erasing me.
i am sorry that my desires never manifest themselves into something beautiful.

i wish i could
                    love.

i
        long.

from miles away i can see you erasing me,
so erase.
perhaps it will be better for the both of us.

(a.m.)

Multiple Sclerosis is the name that the doctors told me.
I was seventeen years old.
"Unfortunately you have Multiple Sclerosis"
As if it didn't need explaining. As if I was just supposed to know what it meant.
"It's not really life threatening"
But I will have it for the rest of my life?
"We should start medication immediately. Injections are three times a week and oral medication is twice a day everyday"
For the rest of my life?
"The sooner we start the better. We don't want your condition to worsen"

My condition? Can you hear me? What's happening? What's going on?

I felt invisible. Burdened by a disease that cannot be seen.
Because my body sees itself as the enemy.
I am the enemy.
They tell you that you are you are in this world alone and that all you should lean on is yourself tell me what happens when it is yourself fighting the self. When my battle is coming from within.
When it is my body that is failing me.

And I am faced with doctors who call my sclerosis a condition, who tell me it's not serious, who rush me out the door to welcome their next patient and they tell me to be patient when I am asking questions as if I am not patiently waiting for my body to implode against itself because my self is fighting a war everyday and I am tired.

Mommy, you told me I was made from stardust, you told me that inside of me their are little soldiers who ensure that my body is working
but mommy you forgot to tell me that they are fighting me
You forgot to tell me that when I stand up for too long pins and needles will claim my body and force me to sit
You forgot to tell me that sometimes I will wake up and I will feel normal, life will give me a taste of what it feels like to be free.

And mommy I forgot to tell you that today I didn't even feel like getting out of bed.
I forgot to tell you that it wasn't my shoe that slipped on the stairs that made me fall, it was my legs going numb

Maybe I don't have a One

This isn't meant to be depressing
although I agree it may come off that way
I just want to be realistic

Maybe I don't have a One

People die for no reason all the time
I don't mean to be somber
these are just facts
do think they had all fallen in love?
do you think their lives were fulfilled?

Maybe I don't have a One

We're force-fed fairytales
peddled parables of Princes and Princesses
love is just a product
no different than chocolate
or straight to DVD CDs of Dumb and Dumber
Not everybody has a bicycle

Maybe I don't have a One

Don't get me wrong
I'm as hopeless a romantic as the next guy
I'm sure people do find love
and a couple consists of two people
so they very well may make up the majority
but as obvious as it may sound to say
50 is not 100
some is not all
and everybody might not have a somebody

Maybe I don't have a One

This wasn't meant to be sad
I just feel like we're all fed a certain narrative
that may or may not be true
which is fine
I just don't think it's crazy
to admit that
perhaps
possibly

Maybe I don't have a One

The weight of the world
     is love.
Under the burden
     of solitude,
under the burden
     of dissatisfaction

     the weight,
the weight we carry
     is love.

Who can deny?
     In dreams
it touches
     the body,
in thought
     constructs
a miracle,
     in imagination
anguishes
     till born
in human--
looks out of the heart
     burning with purity--
for the burden of life
     is love,

but we carry the weight
     wearily,
and so must rest
in the arms of love
     at last,
must rest in the arms
     of love.

No rest
     without love,
no sleep
     without dreams
of love--
     be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
     or machines,
the final wish
     is love
--cannot be bitter,
     cannot deny,
cannot withhold
     if denied:

the weight is too heavy

     --must give
for no return
     as thought
is given
     in solitude
in all the excellence
     of its excess.

The warm bodies
     shine together
in the darkness,
     the hand moves
to the center
     of the flesh,
the skin trembles
     in happiness
and the soul comes
     joyful to the eye--

yes, yes,
     that's what
I wanted,
     I always wanted,
I always wanted,
     to return
to the body
     where I was born.

                         San Jose, 1954

as a dog returns to his *****
so I return to sin.

He's always waiting for me,
asking where I been.

He claims to love me
more so than kin.

I will leave him one day father,
just not sure when.