John mangled his arm in the engine two years ago and now he's back.

His arm is bent.

The engine was hot.

His arm touched the engine and his skin stuck to it.
It puddled up, shook, and yelled.

The engine pulled him closer but didn't decide.

Whether to take his arm,
or to take him whole,
didn't know.

So John pulled back, fell to the mud.  
Puddled up, shook, and yelled.

**Now it's September
and John's back
and he's on the tractor
and the leaves are red
and he's at the edge of the field near the creek
and the sky is blue
and he's laughing
and the water is brown
and the engine is screaming
and the mud is black
and he's driving the tractor into the mud
and the tractor isn't moving
and there's a rock on the gas pedal
and he's opened the hood
and he's got a stick in his hand
and he's jamming branches into the engine
and he's pouring oil on the branches
and the engine is screaming
and the leaves are red
and he's lighting the oil
and tractor is burning
and the sky is blue
and the engine is screaming
and it's September
and John's arm is still bent
and John is laughing,
his hands are swelling,
his hands, the ******,
and the tractor is dead,
it's still yelling, but dead,
and John is laughing.

Breath in this air
Crisp in my lungs
Sweet on my tongue
Cool on my lips

Smelling of rose water and lilac so strong
Kissing my cheeks
Blowing my hair

Carrying my dreams on its everlasting current
Whispering sweet lovelies
To those who accept it

Most days, I am still a human being
Complete with a growing body
A growing mind
And two left feet

Most days, if feels like a good fit
I have learned to use these legs
To take purposeful steps,
Long and leading

Sometimes, I fall flat on my face with flair
For me, to be human is to be clumsy
But it also learning how to make peace

Walking down the street
I count the pairs of eyes that turn to meet mine
And see that they are few and far between
To be human is to be afraid of other humans

And that reality has never sat well in my stomach,
It aches anvils in the bottom of my belly
Bends bright light into muted hues
Happiness is reaching

But my arms are long limbs
And growing all the time

At the ends are these hands;
Meant to hammer or to hold
Being human begs a balance
But the scale tips too often
And our fingers close to clench

Letting go is never easy
But I have learned that breaking
Never brings resolution

Too many humans have never learned that truth
They don’t see that no one’s temple was built to conquer
Anger is a heavy load that no back was meant to bear
And that an empty hand was made for waving
But when holding a gun, it gains new meaning
And bullets weren’t forged to give good greetings
Our bodies were never built to be bombs.
And they would know that if they listened
To their own hearts just beating,
More times in a single day than all the hateful words
I could ever think to say.

And I admit my own mind wasn’t created
To comprehend codes or complex mathematics
But I am blessed with an understanding of basic equations:

One ear plus one ear means that I should always be listening
Add 28 teeth, a tongue plus a voice and there is never a reason for me
Not to say how I’m feeling
Two lips plus two lips
Sometimes equals a kiss
And when it doesn’t,
X amount of sadness plus
Y number of friends means no one ever has to truly be alone

Being human can be beautiful if you don’t let it break you.
Even when it does

Most days I am human
But there are mornings I wake up
Feeling like so much less
On the days when my genetics take the turn to depression
And simple mathematics feels too complex to comprehend,
Even on these days, I can defer
To the most basic lesson in anatomy;

Our bodies are not accidents
We have been put together perfectly
To perpetuate existence peacefully as possible

And all the pieces have already fallen into place
All that is left
Is to live.

I thought I knew you
That crooked smile I love most.
Doctor, who are you?

I don't care what her name is. I don't care what mine is.

I don't have one.

Names get between people.

I want nothing between us.

Names are a form of language.

Language is a form of alienation.

Language is a desperate tool with which we've desperately clawed each other so we can bandage up and call the process getting to know you.

Language is a barrier between that which we know and that which we wish to share and I've got just enough cigarettes to share for the both of us and Austin at 3am isn't cold and sunrise is just around the corner and Austin's sunrise looks revolution-blood tinted red and Texas blushes in the morning and ain't that just ******' beautiful and so tragic it's comedy and thank my sweet Guadalupe she's not one for pleasantries.

Tell me one thing you know for the God-honest truth.

The ******* isn't good for you.

Tell me the most brilliant thing you've ever heard.

You can only know anything when you know you don't know ****.

Tell me the worst thing you've ever done.

*One time I found a way to tell the truth as a lie. It worked. Beautifully.