My father
My dad
My rock
The foundation of our family
You are in so much pain
I can feel your broken spirit
I see the yearning for peace in your soul when I look you in the eyes
Which is not as often as i'd like anymore
The sickness gave you an excuse and a good shake and now you don't realize the bonds you might break
I am angry at every cell
Those mother ******* cells.
I am so angry
And my heart hurts all hours of the day or night
I can't stop it and I don't know what to do
I cry alone and smile at the people who melt on by
But hey,
At least i have a dog and my feet have ten toes, my clothes have no holes and my underwear is clean.
At least most of the time
And my love is grand
At night I have trouble sleeping still.
My chest above my breast gets harder and deeper every day.
I am drowning in it.
It's full of rubble and dust,  fire and gasoline
I am choking on the heat of the smoke and the sut is traveling down and settling in my lungs painting a new picture in my body
My father couldn't teach me enough to understand until I experienced it,  that one thing everyone knows to hate.. cancer
The deafening rise of smoke consumes every thought in my mind

When I was 13, my father sat me down and told me that getting drunk was like kissing the devil on the lips and my naive little head didn't understand that it was meant more for him than for me
Growing up I never saw him drink
But ultimately he found that the drink paired nicely with his diagnosis and that he was always thirsty
This man who calls himself my dad,  is someone I've never known.
I choke on the words to tell him I miss him, but the smoke is too thick and I can't see him anymore
He is not my dad when he drinks
He was my coach
My biggest fan
My most favorite comedian
My best friend
He doesn't see the bonds he's broken and cancer gave him a good shake
But now he's blinded with a bottle and he's bound to the bar
He's gone, I cannot find him.

I wish I could breath underwater to put out this fire
I am choking and my chest is heavy
My lungs are green and molded over now and the carpet ***** up my feelings of regret and apathy
It grows up my throat to my tongue and speaks for me
Another drink please

I am young..
I am young and I am Embarrassed and I am Hopeless
and I am Discouraged.
We are a torn and bruised country. Dogs and wolves with frothing mouths represent and repress the bays of mass flocks.  
I am embarrassed to be so privileged, because when drowned children wash up on our shores, we do not take to the streets in furious rage. I cannot be the only one who feels this way. It is sticky and feverish.. My palms are chronically clammy.
I cannot be the only on here who sees this and feels the yearning for justified outrage and conscious righteousness.
Do not misinterpret me. I do not want revenge.
I am young. And I am sad and I am angry.
And I am ashamed. I am ashamed for the terrible things in this world. I am ashamed that I have not done more to make it right. I am ashamed that I am perpetuating this cycle of apathy.  
I am nauseated.. when an animal gets shot at the zoo, people will remember his name and how he died.
I am angry that we do not know the names of men and women who died for our country with no thanks.. No parade. Soldiers who; bloodied bruised and broken, carried their sister's and brothers through the pit of hell and over the Devil’s rosy cheeks.  
But now, I am not as young.  And still I am seeing more and more that my rage turns to sorrow and my sorrow into hopelessness and hopelessness into indifference. It is a writhing desperate wale. It is the sound of all of the mothers who watched their children grow up only in their imaginations, and the fathers whose daughters and sons were ripped from their calloused fingers. It is a writhing desperate wale.
And still, I do not know what to do. Instead, I am weeping inside and choking on selfie sticks and Sephora perfume.

How do I feel? How do I feel? How do I feel?
I feel like someone who thinks too much and cares too much.
I feel terrible for feeling terrible. I want to feel good.
I feel selfish for standing up for me.
I feel narcissistic writing this because it’s about me.
I feel scared because I don’t know what tomorrow holds. But I do. Tomorrow will be like yesterday and today: Full of worry, apathy and a headache.

Soft skin, with even tone
freckled cheeks the sun beams toasted golden brown
lungs with power to inhale clouds
a stomach which converts energy
My body, fertile and alive, boisterous and pumping
all arms and legs and ******* and fingers.

time takes my freckles and returns to me dark moles and bags, loose skin and sagging chest
My breath is strained.
my stomach and tongue cannot convert, distill and reclaim taste ... no...
that, my dear, is heartburn..
My body aches. my heart is longing

time takes my memory
it hides my recollections away in an old film reel.
Where am i?
legs give out, brace for impact
brittle bones
time takes my aging body and lies down in a field of ageless dreams

Aluminum foil teeth
Enamel taste bud bayonets
Molars initiate waging war
On the soft pink left cheek
Gnawing away radiated flesh
Sawing off fat
Eating through layers of rotten blood
These
Metal dentures cut gums
Tonguing out iron spit

Café
tantalizing aroma
evicts every other scent from my nasal cavity
remedy for self-diagnosed cranial narcolepsy
eyelid suspenders

bittersweet paramour
empty mug,
stirs my core
caramel and dark chocolate
micro-foam, group heads and caffeine
velvet layered cappuccino
espresso parts my thoughts

come sip with me

Fishmonger's yelling--
          their tone; open, penetrating
          casting shadows with wet rubber soles
Puddles of sleet.
The first it snowed, dominoes trample, the ground shakes
        gravity forces bowing of

                             concrete ice sheets
                              that rest above raging flows
fish knew what had happened
surrounded by scales
                        weighing the blame
An addict who is crying, lashing, calling out
for an intervention

                                                               ­            finally sets a date
From here his voice still echoes in my cranial apartments
                                                      ­              spaces to rent, pets allowed under 65lbs...
$300 deposit....
the fishmongers  yelling still
                                     singing their gilled vibrato chorus
I'll learn to live by the stormy ocean
and love myself, my voices and my choices