I need a hug
And not just any hug

One of those tight
Concerned hugs
That say
It will be okay

One of those hugs
That make you feel
Like you can let all the tears
Just fall.

Today is the day
A bright sunny day
But a day in Autumn
Yes, a day in November
Perhaps a bad omen
In fables and movies
I was told since childhood
It is the day that demons
let lose from Hadies

Today is the day
the day that I fear
'cause twas told a bad sign
to be dealing with
the ill-reputed combination of
Thirteen and Friday

Today is the day
That I will
Live to prove that
All such tales are made up
To make human die of fear
A fear that would cover up
The strength and resilience
From within to Look
At one's glorious inner SELF
Seeing that glory
Demon has no choice
But to retreat to Hades

Today is the day
A bright sunny day
But a day in Autumn
Yes, a day in November

The swing set chains squeal  
as if they are themselves children,
strange rusty old
children
playing anxious,
screeching
games.

Shiver, trees.
Turn your silver skyward.
The air sighs,
sighs but feels nothing.
These things are natural.
These things are alive.

The rainbows are next.

They are made of
the colors that belonged
to the flowers
before the thunder came and crushed them.

~feelings, emotions, thoughts; it's better when they're on paper than in me

controlling, devouring, killing; it's better where no one else can ever see

longing, needing, begging; don't ever let them know that you really care

degrading, using, misleading; don't ever let them in on what's really there~

I graduated fresh and ****** from my mother's womb,
a gift, greater than any other.
My sister before me too.
My brother after me was swallowed up by Him
mere hours after drawing his last breath his first.
Behold:
This is my unambiguous declaration against
this universal truth: my unparalleled defense
of the dignity of man
against the temperature-empty, relentlessly inhuman
universe unconcerned with these ventures
which characterize knowing it

not. For one day I shall call
my teachers by their first names. One day
they shall call me doctor. This is the totem
declaring the worth of the living and the dead,
my sister and my brother: myself. The totem
of the disenfranchised and  barely and disabled
and black. Even also less including I guess
the enriched the cup overfloweth and mighty
and colourless. Our skin and bones and graves
and blood and ****** and lust and chest and
******* and being and nothing and isness is

beautiful

regardless of everything. It is mine.
It is yours. It is yours.

Votre.

You ask me why we never talk anymore
It's like you've erased from your memory
The fact
That we never did
Maybe you don't remember
The days that you told me
That I was worthless
Maybe you've forgotten
That December afternoon
When you manically drove full speed
Into the car ahead of us
And cried of disappointment
When you found your family
Still breathing
Or perhaps you can't recall
The Friday night
When I told you that I wanted to take my life
And you went to the kitchen
To hand me a knife
Maybe you think
That your newfound success
Makes you a better parent
Maybe you've convinced yourself
That envelopes of money
And elaborate gifts
Will heal open wounds
And fade tattooed scars
Maybe in your mind
You've rewritten the past
But I'm stuck on a page
That I simply cannot turn