When I’m drunk, I’m somehow in love with you.
Yet sober, my heart is still walking back,
Often hitch-hiking its way from the past.

What deep-buried chest does alcohol drown
and force open, pouring forth its magic?
And bulldozing over every brick wall?

I huff and I puff, bad as I may seem,
But I can never shake my own walls nor
Create a crack to call my very own.

They can show the start but never the end.
Does utopia stop at the altar?
Will reality hit after this kiss?

I once read somewhere that in order to
Know the future you have to create it.
So, why don't people make the best future?

For so many out there love seems to end,
Restricted from breathing after its birth.
Your choices decide whether you wed or mourn.

As I climbed the steps to your pedestal,
I was wondrously falling in love,
not realizing I could ever hit a bottom.

Knocked down by the actions you chose to take,
Held down by the mistakes I chose to make,
I hope that never happens again.

You see, the first time I was shocked,
Confused as to what was going on, numb.
But the second time really woke me up.

Behold your boldness, your victory grin.
Ignorance was everyone else's bliss.
But I didn't make a sound, how could I?

I didn't want to show other people
the struggles and **** I was wading through.
The beginnings of lust, the ending of love.

I can never tell my family 'cause
My parents would probably call the cops,
and I can't hug you if you're locked in jail.

Sheeps in wolves clothing linger within the walls of church.
Still moving around in the flesh.
Thinking they better then the sinner visting.

What's so amazing?
Many refuses to see the truth.
That many church men are stilling playing games.

Trying to pretend before the priest.
While looking certain ladies up and down.

The flesh always reveals itself.
God knows which folks in the world needs help.

Go not to the lord unless sincere.
He's for real.
He doesn't pretend.
He's our savior.
He's our friend.

And it will be him advising you about the well dress fool.
The one pretending to be save.
But if you give him a chance.
He prove he's not saved.

Because wolves within church always gets exposed.
What's so amazing?
Certain folks in church knows them.

Cold bodies.
Devilish grins plastered over greyed faces,
dripping with glee
and dragging limbs.
As rotted flesh closes in,
yearning to grip and pull.
Bite into the sweets, ripened.
To break the seal,
bursting blood red to splatter.
Tear with teeth.
Wanting it, so badly.......
beyond the fence
topped with barbed wire
repeatedly pressing against.
How much strain,
how much push till it breaks
and falls to the ground
to release the horde.
To feast on the world.

is to be empty so you're all I can contain

I remember the morning Tuesday was invented—
how gleeful we sang across the streets—
forgetting that the day after tomorrow would be Thor’s day
and that one we didn’t own, too.

I remember the bathroom stalls, the sins of Leviticus
we survived
comforting our confusion with the indulgence that God too
love man, kind.

Let the purgatory full of half good men sing about their sins
with pride and laugh at the moons and stars for being without limbs
and tongues to protest their innocence and Idontgiveadamnisms;

For I remember being fed the tenets of heterosexual history in elementary school
yet wondering why queer gods are the ones named after the planets.