I destroyed my body
for a peace of mind i never got.

It's amazing how at one point in my life
I will be extremely close with you and then
later you will become a complete stranger.
You passed me without a word,
without a single acknowledging look. But,
you were the person, who once knew me so well
that you knew all my dark secrets and saw me through.

You were the smell before the rain but
now you are the blood in my veins,
a heart without chains.

Been off stubbing repeatedly,
my toes,
on the raggedy twisted
sidewalks of a sinking city, not mine,
where here, my own metaphor,
is being hand delivered,
to me, for me, by me

too many cayenne creole paroles,
none of them getting me any freer
none, as of yet,
making me a free parolee

been off studying some
of what I cannot yet do,
parole in libertà,
a language cosmopolitan
of creation, via creative writing
remolding all of the dix senses

been drawn and french quartered,
drilled down, found no unknown
solace deep bedrock grown,
so doing a redistricting of the map personal,
exposing my gardens, my Doric columns,
to any passerby with the
audacity so sheer to look me
in the face direct and say
laissez le bon temps rouler!

looking to liberate my words,
looking for liberty in my words,
in a different melting *** where here
I am a semi-low semi-free
person of color called
Old Fashioned White,
looking for a seasonal hurricane
to move me along,
push me to write in a new style,
developing cayenne words
smothered in jazz à la mode

multi-flirting with multi-fluency,
searching for Experimental
mellifluous words
stolenlen from, and built upon
a thousand years of languages,
river wide delivering its mountain deep
cargo of silt, a city of words, upon it built,
just like the great Mississippi,
changing course every one
                                               thousand years

my mouth, a river opening wide,
catching both salty and fresh,
god's love delivering,
doing the best I can,
writing real fracking poetry for poetry's sake,
not text messages of asstags
kissing nobody's ads of sad dead #hashtags,
following nobody noticeably,
but thrusting your good stuff into my orifices,
most pleasurably deep
                

but never parrying,
                   

      I am a poet social only in this:

my devotion to my crew
                                   stronger every day
for and
                           of that particular poetry,

           I can write better than anyone,
              so big,
                                    sooooooooo easy,

and that's, Steve, Bala, y'all,
how and what I'm doing
and by the way,

Putain Zang Tumb Tumb

you could look it up

you are
my inspiration
to my poems
please don't go away
if you go away
my poetry
will fade away
and slowly
i will die
please stay
in my life
forever
please
let me live
to love you
all my life
please
let me live
to be with you
forever
please
let me live
to share
your pain
please
let me write
about
all the pain
you cause
inside my heart
please
let me write
all the wonderful things
i see in you
please
let me write
how much
you are loved
by this girl

Is that the lowest moment?
When you don't dare to wear shorts because of the scars that cover your legs.
And then you're sitting there at the dinner table with your family,
And they keep on telling you to eat,
But all you mutter is "I'm not hungry",
When you actually are.
You're starving but your image is worth more than a meal.
You eat a few bites just to shut them up,
And then run to the bathroom to rid yourself of it,
To make sure you can fit into those jeans,
The ones that could stand you losing another 5 pounds.
You get used to the lies of:
"I'm not hungry"
"I ate before I came"
And "oh yeah I'm fine, just tired".
Is that your lowest point,
When the only food you're feeding yourself is lies?

i fell in love with the stars
because i never thought they'd let me down
until one night it was cloudy
and not a single sky diamond could be found

so i became quite fond of the sun
and basked in its warm and comforting glow
until one day, the sky kept crying
and the heartless sun refused to show

so i decided to fancy the moon
thinking the moon would always come through
but every day it faded away leaving the night
the way it left me; empty and velvet and dark blue

so as you see, i'm used to being disappointed and alone
i feel abandoned each time i stop and reminisce
and quite honestly, chances are one day you'd leave me too
so that's why, kind gentleman, i decline your kiss

Brother I need you to promise me this,

Promise me that whatever the voices say, you will not take your life,

Promise me that though they tell you to leave home, you will not listen

Promise me that you won't abandon me, because I won't be able to bear it.

Do you remember when we were young?

As you would make your way around the house, pacing like your life depended on it, I don't know if you ever realized that I was your shadow, but I followed you around faithfully.

In my eyes we were the tag team duo, the nonidentical twins, the inseparable combination that was going to tackle the world together.

But now you're distant.

When I am on the ground, pinned down by the weight of reality, you don't jump in.

You asked me once, "Do you think souls can talk?"

I couldn't answer you then, but now I know.

They do talk.

You just couldn't here mine as you were walking away into the night without a single glance towards me.

The demons in the crowd are cheering, the referee is counting down, and I am losing.

The world is not bearable, not without you.

I am so afraid....

I cannot express how it feels to watch as my other half becomes more unreachable. As his reason fades, and his ability to be reasoned with following after. I can't stand to look in the mirror just to see you walking away.

But I pray that before you disappear, you might turn back and see me. You won't say anything and neither will I. But in the roar of the crowd, through the fog clouding your mind, before you leave, you will hear my soul speak.

We,
you & me,
are co-creators
of heavenly artwork,
sacred patterns of intimacy
& on your porcelain canvas,
I brush my paint
this starry night.

She says, “I'm too tall”
Because she thinks she is too big to be held
She says, “I hate my voice”
Because she can only hear herself in recordings
She says, “I don’t know what I'm doing”
Because she can’t see past her shortcomings

But what she doesn't know is that with her head up to my chin she is the perfect size to fall into my arms and be wrapped in an embrace bigger than her insecurities
Or that the low, velvet tone of her voice that dances from her lips could never be captured by a video
Or that her imperfections cower in the face of her all her strengths

And she doesn't know
That I do.