you tell me that when
you think of me,
you think
"good person."
is that so?

i want to tell you how much
i appreciate the sentiments
or how
you make me feel just a
                                little less rotten
but the words stay
hostage
inside my mouth.

i want to be good.
i want to be kind,
i want to be holy,
sacred.
i want to i want to.

but this tenderness was forged
in the fire and the fire
is all it will ever know.

a single dog
walking alone on a hot sidewalk of
summer
appears to have the power
of ten thousand gods.

why is this?

i've been seeing ghosts for
as long as i can remember now.
they sit idly on my bed,
              making small talk with
the skeletons who play poker
on my closet floor.
they call. flush, straight,
empty hands as the cards fall through
the gaps between their fingers.
together they brush worries
out of my hair, one by one.
they have nothing else to do,
                      and neither do i.

as strands of my hair are
placed gently behind my ear.
they speak to me,
but mostly among themselves.
"i can't tell you when it gets better, kid.
i can't tell you if it ever does."

when i was a child and went out during the rain,
my father would tell me
"you ain't sugar, child.
                                         who said you gon' melt?"
so i stopped dipping my toes in pool water
          and started jumping off bridges.
sometimes i would swim in fountains,
looking for kindness, but

i guess people eventually realized
      their cash wasn't worth their buck.
that no god in the sky was gonna give
             you somethin' good for five cents.

so lemme tell you, sugar. you wanna know
           the look the bank gave me when
i asked for my paycheck in dimes?
           that "you gotta be kidding me" look,
           that "wait.. you're serious?" look.
disbelief like no other.

           that same look i give you
when you step foot in the rain,
and i say "hey, careful now.
                 sugar likes to melt in this weather."

i know a man who
has been radiating warmth since the day
we met--
i know this because i've seen it
spill out of his chest, gutted, like
sunlight through curtains.
like a massacre that speaks softly.

i've watched that light
land on my skin so timidly,
almost without notice.
i've felt it tread gently
across my ribcage and
my heart stop beating
whenever it got close.
to give in to man is to
ask for mercy;
a different kind of
surrender.

and mercy.
that man has had
my heart ever since.

YOU NEEDED THAT COMFORT DIDN'T YOU HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SLEEP UNDER ALL THESE OVERPASSES WHEN THE CARS DON'T RUN LIKE THAT AROUND HERE TELL ME HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE EVERYTHING YOU SAY WITH A GRAIN OF SALT WHEN I'M TOO HOPEFUL FOR THAT **** WE BOTH KNOW IT GETS DANGEROUS I HAVEN'T BEEN AROUND FOR HUNDREDS OR THOUSANDS OF YEARS BUT I KNOW A THING OR TWO ABOUT "STORAGE" AND MEMORIES THAT LIVE PACKED AWAY IN THE ATTIC AND ON GOD YOU CAN'T BLOW DUST OFF THIS ONE LIKE THE REST