i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
"uh oh, ****"
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
  1991
on live television
montel williams asks my father
"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"
   1994
i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
   1996
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
   2013
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says "why don't you joke
about something like your family?"
so i say
"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"
i say "what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"
before he has a chance
to answer
i say "1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and
leave"
   2014
every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."
and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried

Don’t you dare, for one minute,
believe that my kindness makes me
anything but insurmountable.
I did not unzip my chest to every kind of hurt,
and stagger back, wounded and alive,
just to hear you call me weak for trying.
I opened my door to Heartache–
I gave her the ******* key.
My softness for wayward strangers
has made me nothing less
than a halfway house for aching soles.
So when you open your mouth
and call me ‘baby’
understand that I am not your next victim
in a laundry list of broken girls.
You think I don’t know you? People like you?
People with mouths for hands.
I’ve got skin like topsoil
and your teeth could never take root.
So when you go looking to make a plaything
of a sunburst,
you better look for someone with less fire
than me.
Because softness or no,
I will eat you alive
before I let you make a meal of me.

I have fallen in
jungles, desserts,
heat, cold, on hills,
in valleys, by streams
in cities and towns,

but always I have
fallen for you,
dear citizen,

and so my blood
is always on
your hands.

  ~mce

Take all of my belongings; pictures of
Beloved ones and grandmother's bible.
Just leave me a piece of paper and my
Will to describe the memory of my losses.

I take the pen for granted, as one does when
Leaving a bank in deeper debt.
One man's advertisement is another poet's
Tool.

I, Poet, would arise in the morning and praise
My tiny square of window, even with its
Iron bars.
I'd find poetry in prison wall profanity.

I love losing. Crying over love, over
Tragedies the size of full history book pages,
Timeless art lost in gallery fires, bad poetry
Gone viral and unpublished classics discarded.

I, Poet, laugh out loud in disbelief at sunsets
And other banalities.
Take spring rain showers and act at times
Like a hipster on ether; a hippie kissing his  

Last tab of acid with the heart of his tongue.
I care less than the unfree.
Drink water; wash my feet with wine    
And walk miles and miles of fire.

I, Poet.
Ink in my veins, fountains of blood on my
Pages. I write no diary, keep myself between
The lines.

The areas of white between the words.
The opposite of
Nothing. It is where gods,
Truths, and the poet's way of loving

A dual life lie. As
Unseen as
Unhidden, in
Broad daynight.

To share my dreams with
To sleep next to every night
To laugh with everyday
To have children with
To love and cherish
To marry one day
To watch endless movies with
To spend forever with
To simply BE with
I would choose you
Every single time
EVERY SINGLE DAY
*ALWAYS

Sorry to tell you,
but we are not one in the same.
Bloodily tied by our fully extended limbs,
we hold onto different blame.
Attached by cordial hellos
and torn apart by distance,
we should never have to try this hard to find consistence.
Although time has become just a number, and hurt has become my armour
I will never forget your choices.

Tonight I’m playing snakes and ladders with my pleas.
My forefingers massage the temples on my forehead.
My eyes are shut tight; even the moon is too bright.
I’m bowing my head to the stars to hide the shame
covering my skin. Each shooting star highlighting
the scars you left on me. I’m begging the night please
let me go. I’m rubbing my eyes. I’m picking mascara
off my eyelashes. I’m pleading with my heart please
stop loving her. My hands move around my neck,
they’re choking me. It stops my heart. It stops my
heart beating for just a few moments. I gasp!
And then, it’s the grasping and grappling of my
finger tips digging into my collar bones.
I’m tightening my grip. I’m holding; I’m holding
so tight, I’m bruising my skin, and my finger nails
are piercing my skin. Now, I’m clawing.
There’s nothing left in me. Even my shoulders cave
in; my collar bones rungs on the ladder. My
grip loosens and I drop to my chest bones,
letting my feet rest on my ribs.
Tonight I am playing snakes and ladders with my pleas.
If I fall any further down the snake of my spine, my
only hope is gripping the vertebrae and climbing back up.


© Sia Jane

They have more courage than anyone I know
They constantly sacrifice their lives
So one can have wood, homes, floors, fences,
And so many more things
They never once cry or even scream
Though it hurts them, they keep their vows of silence
They give us oxygen freely
Everyday, every minute, every hour
Each day, each breath you take
It is thanks to them,
And yet they never blame you,
Nor say a harsh word
They never judge you or hold a grudge against you
Even though it's their life you have taken
Could you give up your life, so willingly?
Never cry, never utter a word, or hate anybody?
Could you give oxygen to everyone 24/7?
AND give up your life, even though
You're just as helpful living as you are dead?
If not, then those same trees that have laid down their lives
For the very chair you're sitting on, for the very home you live in
Are the best of God's creation amongst us
Let us always try to respect them
GOD BLESS THEM & LONG LIVE THE TREES!

*~Marian~

Carve out a chunk,
the happiness hunk.
The one that stays clear
of all of the junk.

Without this fine piece,
one is never in least,
content with ones self.
A man without peace.

Take out the side,
with ego and pride.
That part is the worst,
Just set that aside.

Believe when they tell us,
it too, makes us jealous.
When envy is stricken,
a man over-zealous.

Cut out a slice,
and anger's the price.
Lets get rid of that,
it's not very nice.

See, this ones a cage,
where bad memories age,
and morph into new forms.
A man full of rage.

Punch out the holes,
that sadness controls.
It can be so hard,
when charred into souls.

Aside from the rest,
but, nested in best.
the sadness takes hold,
and a soul is depressed.

The thing that most feel,
has taken the wheel,
is fear in itself.
Although, its not real.

Fear is insane,
it confuses the brain,
into thinking its there.
A mans shadow of pain.