I like the rain.
It reminds me of many things.
It reminds me of little days to teen days.
I can sit in the musk warmth for hours while the trickles of water fall upon my nose.
Close my eyes.
Breath in deep, and exhales all the memories.
I can be barefoot.
I can be nothing but a t-shirt and shorts.
I want to feel this rain, not just be in it.
Have me sit on the roof and look out onto the world.
It's beautiful when it's quiet.
Rain warms me.
Cuddles me.
I don't get sick, I get happier.
Let my hair frizz up with wetness.
Let the chill bumps ride on my skin, I like it.
Smell of rain reminds me of a aquarium.
Amazon rainforest.
Just feels good to be alone in the rain thinking of everything in that one brain.
I can sleep in the rain.
Like the rain.

No one can't tell you how to live your life.
No one can't make you tie your shoes when you're walking the ten feet blocks to heaven.
You have an option to wake up that one dark night.
I can't tell you to stay at home and watch the daffodils sway,
that's your option.
No one can't cascade your mind, making you think the way they do.
No one can't tell you to bite the bud off the flower,
it's whatever.
You have a right to stand and preach your words of the holy bible or not.
Whatever book you want your mind to seep in to,
let it be.
You have a choice to paint your walls blue.
No one can't say you can't make a bonfire in the mid-summer.
If you like the long way,
take the long way.
If you want an elusive sweet education, then go for it.
No one can't stop you from breathing.
That choice you made two minutes ago,
was your option.
You have an opinion to what you like.
Whether it's sweet or bitter.
If you like that stripped sweater then wear it every Tuesday.
You are you.
No one can't take your pride away,
whether it's gender wise, cultural or fantastical.
You are freaking you.

Death is not equal nor is it fair.
Its deep depression hugs your skin so tight till the warmth of your blood blisters within inside.
The hands of tar holds your wrist,
melting you to the gritty bones.
You can't help but to fall into a transparent universe.
Your eyes are glossy all over, and your breath is cold to the temp.
You have dark circles beneath your eyes.
Hate to say it,
but you're dead.
Just relax and pretend you're another dimension,
playing jump-rope around the corner.  
Your whole body is hallow,
the ground is forever infinite.
Where is your mind right now?
I don't know.
Death doesn't do much.
We give death work, it pays us with great fortune.
Just let go.
Let yourself fall into the arms of death.
Everything you see now is bleak, draft,
nothing.
Be the sweet rooted demotic demon person you are.
Death doesn't mind.
You look to see if the clock has struck twelve,
but it hasn't.
All because of death.
Death doesn't make its move until you drop the silver spoon.
It watches you from up above.
Watch you bleed from the neck,
or weakened at the heart.
You can pursue any way to go.
Death will do.
Stop running the 100 mile race just to chase away the horrors of death.
It will come to you when you least expect it.

Papa,
my beautiful papa.
He doesn't look at me anymore.
His smile has disappeared from his face.
Papa's bones are as thin as the weeds out back.
Remember papa?
You made me that handmade bike because you couldn't afford me a real one.
Your hands were the only things that helped me and momma.
The medicine you take, the bed you live in,
Your only depends.
I'm the one you should depend on papa.
I hold your fragile hand as you shake in fear.
Papa, your fever is too high.
On some nights, I sit with you in the oddest hours, keeping a cool damp towel placed  on your forehead.
The medicine can only hold you here for so long.
Papa, I can't sleep knowing that you're coughing your life away.
I stay up thinking of the days we use to spend in the blistering sun.
You drinking your ginger beer, giving me a sip.
It was sweet, yet burned on my tongue as it went in the back of my throat.
Warm feeling.
Papa, you were there for me when my days were dark and momma wouldn't be around.
She works a lot more now.
Why does life have to take the only thing I need to live?
Papa, you're getting weaker.
The hammer and nails you use to use, now mock your lack of strength.
Momma can only do so much.
Remember when the holidays would come around and you'd be out so long?
Scorching yourself to find the one gift for me?
Weary and tired you would always be,
you did it for me.
Papa, it's my turn now.
I loved the way you would smell during the mid-summer days.
The burnt cigarettes and fabric sweat was your name brand smell.
Every night,
you would come home beat with sweat beads on your forehead from the hat you wore.
It resembled the long weary hours you worked for that money.
Stale bread bottoms and scarce water was all we had.
Holy socks and beaten shoes was all I needed.
It was all you could afford papa.
Now life is in my hands.
Your sickness is the only tight bond left that's keeping us close.
Papa, you're daydreaming again.
Collarbones and hip bones are not suppose to be visible on you papa.
It's hurting me more than it's hurting you.
Your eyes are glossy.
The hair on your head that was once thick and brown,
has now gone grey and thin.
You're undernourished.
Papa, I can see the fear in your eyes.
You're worried about me and momma.
Don't worry.
Sad how the doctors turn their heads in shame.
They can't do anything.
If you leave me as I'm speaking,
remember that your life has given me great fortune.
Whether it was working till your knuckles bled or staying up all night with me,
just know that you're a wonderful papa.

The problem
with this poem
is that
it needs
light
to be read.

light:
daylight
candle-light
electric light.
sun light.

One can dance
in the dark
one can sing
in the dark
one makes
love
in the dark
but this poem
cannot be read
in darkness
that is perhaps
its greatest
weakness.

He dropped a bottle, we watched the lactic leave and cover the floor.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
He tipped the vase that was onced said not to be touched,
Drew on walls with all sorts of colors.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
Ran with bread in his hands that wasn't his,
Walked on property that said NO.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
Absent from school, days and days,
Sobbed and pout in stores when mother said,
I'm not buying that.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
Grades were lowering,
Smiles were deterring.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
Tussled in the streets with the no-good-doers,
Trying to protect the change in his pockets.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
He came in the house of the mist of nights,
Bashed and bitter,
Partied till sunrise.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
He met a lover,
Left her for another and another.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
He howled and beaten people,
Threatened their lives if they spoke of it.
"He's a baby boy, he doesn't know better."
Jumped in mysterious cars and tarnished the neighborhoods,
Took innocent lives,
Was sentenced life.
"He's not a baby boy, he knows better."

How do you find yourself subjected for loving someone whose mind is so young and out of your reach?
That is what I tell myself every time I think of you.
This falling happened over a year ago.
I'm just now gotten the courage to step out of it.
Attraction
When I heard the song on the radio, a bug ran though me.
"What is this...feeling?" I thought.
It couldn't have been anything else.
I told myself I was way too deep into my own world and needed rest.
But I figured,
What if I do have feelings?
I wondered.
As the days grew by, it grew stronger.
I was weak,
But not anymore.

Take a glass
And shatter it
And watch it
Turn to dust

Leave some
Metal in the
Rain and watch
It slowly rust

I know you
Have glue and
I know you
Have paint
And you are
Doing all
That you
Can

But please
Understand
When I say
I cannot be
Whole
Again.