We sit around my aunts brown kitchen table
A scene we’ve done a thousand times before where I slinked unnoticed behind my hair until it was turn to recite my yearly accomplishments.
Back into the shadows.
This time is different.
This time my father is dead.
Suicide.
He went missing 24 hours before.
“Your fathers illness took him”
He was diagnosed with a neurological disease months prior.
We never spoke.
No it didn’t, my brain screamed.
Suicide.
I run to the kitchen in panic trying to find clonizapam which I almost never take cause I’m afraid of pills.
“What are you taking, doing drugs won’t numb your pain”.
He’s a cop, of course anxiety meds would be seen as “drug addiction”.
“I’m having a panic attack” I muster, angrily from the displaced shame.
I don’t take the pill out of spite and we don’t say anything on the 30 minute drive to his house.
I’m probably sheet white, I feel anxious.
I feel nothing.
I haven’t cried.
We had a terrible relationship, dad and I.
Terrible.
Suicide.
Hours pass.
Minutes?
I dunno, I’m dissociating into everyone’s grief.
Stop talking to me.
I don’t want to be here.  
So many unanswered questions, ones I still don’t know nearly a year later.
Silence and awkwardness.
I sit at the head of their table and avoid everyone’s eyes except my little brothers.
They’re all staring at me, finally paying attention to me after so long.
I hate it.
I want to disappear, their eyes like pathetic little daggers of sadness.
Why the **** am I here?
Someone mentions my tattoos.
Yeah.
I have tattoos.
Tattooed hands, and a dead father.
I only cry when my brother does.
Telling him it’s a suicide, a face I’ll never forget and my soul left behind at the death of his innocence.
Nothing left to protect.
Our father is dead.
6 days till the year death anniversary.
I don’t cry as much as I had after the veil finally shattered.
I’ve never known depression like that; though I was able to find myself after severe heartache.
A traumatized youth.
C-ptsd.
Pass me the join, I need to sleep.

I dream of a street I once resided on
An old dwelling, with galvanize fencing
A main street, with poor street lightings
I wake longing to be back there,
I remember the country, but not the heartaches,

Where I use to live and where am I now
Its poetry, it a google map, it history,
How did i get from there to here?

Once again it poetry, it was a drastic move
How i comes and goes in my dream of being there
Not the dwelling, not the whispering of the trees,
Nor the shortage of water, but the freedom of being me..
“Freedom is doing a job that I love. Not because I have to do it, but because I love doing it.” Quote
I just finish watching another Netflix movie.. About families
Unauthorized living: some of the plots could have been better
But, I enjoy the main characters, in comparisons to mine

Daniel was funny, too rich to be happy, too stupid to know how to live
He gives his bodyguards two thousand dollars just to see who **** was bigger,
To stupid to know how to live
Too rich to be happy:
A character like him needs to live on my street,
In that dwelling on the main street, without his daddy’s billions:

Being rich doesn’t stop one from being a *****,
Those sisters proven that in the movie:
A man will always be a dog, with his sniffing,
With my findings, Beautiful women suffers
more than ugly women do..
once in a while allow your mind to take you home
a place where you felt safe. During these ugly times:

The delicate curvature of your lips
Swirling arousal around my hips
Trailing deliciously intimate kisses
Until you’re enjoying yourself amongst my soft inner thighs;
Warmth trailing by moonlight
We kiss and the night is lost within your deep blue eyes.

Inihahalintulad nila ang katawan ng tao
Sa templo
Sagrado
Dapat ingatan
Sang-ayon ako
Hindi ba iyon ang dahilan
Kung bakit ika’y niluluhuran
Sinasamba
Kung makasalanan man ang gawin ito
Kusa ko nang iaalay
Ipagpapaubaya
Ang kaluluwa
Sa kaibuturan ng impyerno

They say love is hard
and I used to believe it
until I loved you.