When I am inside writing,
all I can think about is how I should be outside living.

When I am outside living,
all I can do is notice all there is to write about.

When I read about love, I think I should be out loving.
When I love, I think I need to read more.

I am stumbling in pursuit of grace,
I hunt patience with a vengeance.

On the mornings when my brother’s tired muscles
held to the pillow, my father used to tell him,

For every moment you aren’t playing basketball,
someone else is on the court practicing.

I spend most of my time wondering
if I should be somewhere else.

So I have learned to shape the words thank you
with my first breath each morning, my last breath every night.

When the last breath comes, at least I will know I was thankful
for all the places I was so sure I was not supposed to be.

All those places I made it to,
all the loves I held, all the words I wrote.
And even if it is just for one moment,
I will be exactly where I am supposed to be.

I dreamt that I woke up to the sight of you.
Our legs were still intertwined,
Bare like the entirety of our bodies.

Squinty-eyed and morning breath.
I never cared,
The sight of you was a gift.

I swear you have an internal heater.
Either that or you’re a vacuum
Based on my collarbone covered in lust.

I woke up and you weren’t here. Again.
My doctor says I should be getting more sleep.
But, imagining you’re still here is
My worst nightmare.

My sheets are her canvas.
She calls this piece Love
And says she made it just for me.

How is it fair that I have seen
Art with a chest that rises and falls
Like suns and moons pass.

I've watched people die.
I've watched myself die.
I've watched you.
I want to be reborn.

A single seed is buried beneath the soil.
Nurtured by its home.
It grows from a dot
To an arm reaching for the sky.

The apples dangle by a thread.
Some fall to the ground and serve as dinner to deer.
Some are ripped from their suspension by
Human hands for a snack.

Selflessness. To give gifts with
Receiving nothing in return.
Take opportunities
And make something out of them.

When I looked into the sky,
The wave of blue that is the same shade of
Your eyes crashed over me.

My heart ached when saw that color.
It was like having to kiss you
All over again.

There was not a cloud in the sky, 75 degrees.
Our first date was at night.
I have not felt this warm in months.

I reached my arms out in front of me,
Palms toward the sky,
Basking in the heat that refilled me.
I was consuming the sun.

Looking at someone who consumes you,
The color of their eyes the closest thing you have
To water in this desert.

Fish out of water
In this city of lost souls.
Their smile anchors your conscience.

The only thing that separates you
Is the center console and the
Same songs you always hear on the radio.

Wishing to listen to the
Songs that saved them.
Wishing that they would stay like
Saltwater in the ocean.

It is going to be hell
If I have to lose you in this
Place where no one leaves.

When we approached the intersection
Contaminated with political signs,
Yes on 1, No on 1. I asked,
“What did you vote for, daddy?”

We waited an hour in line for the elevator
Inside the crowded Empire State Building.
It was our turn but you said,
“We aren’t going in there with them.”

I had just received my diploma
And was floating on the high of achievement.
She put her arm around me and you said,
“Stop being so queer.”

My heart is broken
And I stay locked away for days
You knock on my door and ask,
“What’s wrong?”

I am not going to tell you what’s wrong
When I grew up hearing from your lips
That I am what’s wrong.
He doesn’t need that extra burden.

I will carry the memories of
Your vote against gay marriage,
The two men holding hands in the elevator,
The words that made my diploma a dagger.

I have these moments of epiphany.
It is while I watch myself
Wake up and not kiss the soil.

The days I don’t remember
What color the sky was
Or how I treated my mother.

Each time I fly and I realize
There is nothing more breathtaking
Then seeing her from above.

Powerful, Resilient, Art, Oppressed, Female.
That is why I fall in love with the Earth,
She reminds me of all the women I’ve ever loved
That I do not deserve.

By now you know I’ve moved on from your ways;
Eaten by your cruelty, my soul is gone;
A tear is shed by many night and day;
The extent that you’ve hurt us is far too long.

A flame holds it’s wick when a strong wind blows;
Just air it holds onto to feed its life;
Of all things here, it’s the only thing that glows;
Some are burned by the flame, pain like a knife.

However, it’s gone eventually.
Give or take time, when the wax does melt,
Races are then finished essentially,
A pain you inflict but have never felt.

Can I ask you this while you’re still around?
Enter here, I’ll make sure you’re never found.

Even though she is the sun,
She gives you life,
Warms your skin to the touch,

Remember why there is the moon.
Too much heat and you will burn.
Too much darkness and you’ll get lost.

The World stops spinning for no one,
Learn from her and see
Life is a tightrope walk between comfort and gravity.

Wooden walls that form around my bed,
Laughing at something my roommate said
I see way too many faces in the day;
They're all the same, nothing changed from yesterday.

These paths they've kissed my feet.
We weren't allowed to cross the street.
We joke about it being a jail,
But to be honest I wouldn't pay that bail

It gets old,
But wouldn't trade it for gold.
I know that these people, they love me.
But out of everyone, baby
You cooked me up this recipe
To believe in destiny.

Winter's always that coldest up North.
Walking outside was always a force.
Your hand was the only warmth that I wanna feel.
Coming back from spring break, that feeling was unreal.

The springtime came and the rain fell.
We know our hearts, they were parallel.
Our love's on track for the end.
Teachers knew we were more than friends.

It gets old,
But wouldn't trade it for gold.
I know that these people, they love me.
But out of everyone, baby
You cooked me up this recipe
To believe in destiny.

Now we're eighteen and out of here.

She told me,
You are a poet.
I told her,
You are the poetry,
I am a witness
-my testimonial

I have a stack of vinyls on my dresser.
Some of which I'll never listened to.
Because I thought I should buy
"Greatest Christmas Hits" for five dollars plus tax.

I have a stack perfume samples in my bottom drawer.
I rip them out from magazines,
Shut them in the darkness
Until they lose their scent.

I've always had a thing for stacks.
The way books look stacked on one another.
The way clothes stack up on my bedroom floor.
The way your freckles are stars stacked on your nose.

Last week I went to a bookstore.
It reeked of musk with shelves painted in titles of books
I will never read.
I walked, looking at most but touching one.

When I am with you,
I can't help but reaching for you
Because your skin is braille in the only
Book I picked out of the stacks.

Watch an ice cap melt.
Watch your mother cry.
Watch your grandfather forget your name.

If a tree falls in the forest, alone,
does it make a sound?
If a girl cries in the dark,alone,
can she be seen?

To be an artist is to choose
loneliness over emptiness.
Why do you think poison ivy grows leaves?

To use the right side of your brain
is to choose
to make a sacrifice.

My mother is the sunrise in the morning.
Her presence lights up the room when she walks in.

My mother is the earth.
She sacrifices her whole being just so that others
Can roam around her as they please.

My mother is an oak tree in October.
Slowly hurting but more beautiful than ever.
Even when her leaves fall
She perseveres through the hard times
And continues to stand tall.

She takes my time, but I don’t mind.
She makes me feel like I can see for miles.
She changes the weather in my world,
Seems like it’s never getting old.
What’s stopping you?

I’ve ruined myself for a lot of people that weren’t even worth it.

Without me, there would be
No souls in this house.
Only the carcass of the person
You used to be.


I’m starting to get lonely.

As a duet, my mom and alarm clock yell to get up.
Half asleep, I nearly fall asleep while brushing my teeth.
I choose my outfit, maybe I’ll dress up today.
I run out to the bus as it screeches to a stop on the curb.

My friends are leaned against their lockers.
I stare at the clock all of Algebra.
Pizza for lunch.
I die of boredom as the school day comes to an end.

Gunshots and screams full the air as they tell me something’s wrong.
In shock, I nearly faint while people shush us through their teeth.
I choose where to hide, maybe the teachers desk will work as a blockade.
The gunshots subside, the shooter has left the building.

My friends lie dead on the hallway floor.
I stare at the puddles of red that stain the tiles.
Cries of grief.
How did I not die?

If I had known my school would become a battleground
I would have invested in a bulletproof vest to keep under my desk
Just in case the lockdown drill doesn’t work.

Are pencils to erasers
As guns are to bullets?

No seems like such an easy word to say. But sometimes it holds the weight of the world.
Hearing those two letters formed together with zero space can feel like a stab in your heart.
But what does it do to someone with no heart at all.
Is pain all they feel with the lack of passion?
Remorse is gone.
Would the pain be too much?
Do I ease the pain you already feel?
Without me there would be no souls in this empty house.
Only an empty carcass of the person you used to be.

I should have known that you were like the ocean,
Always tossing and turning those who
Choose to get on top of you.
I should've taken warning when
Your eyes were red like the sky in the morning.

I used to love the blush colored lipstick
You would put on at night.
Maybe I saw myself in that lipstick.
The way you would press me against your lips.
I,
Your material girl,
Used to look good on you.

You left me one day
Sitting in your sweltering car
Where I slowly melted inside the cap
You concealed me in.

You wanted to look good again.
But, darling, you're too late.
I am nothing but a puddle of pink on your dashboard.
The same shade of pink that cascades the sky
Above you,
The Ocean.

Sit among the rustling leaves.
Listen for life,
Listen for death.

You'll find that life lives among the trees
Audible by whistles.
The freedom a seagull must feel.
Favorite food: tourist's french fries.

I once heard a story about a buoy.
From Maine to Europe it
Drifted for years.
Is that freedom?

Did the current grab it's limbs like
The medieval rack and dislocate it's ability?
Buoys can't cry for help as cargo ships float by.
The salt tastes like ignorance.

How would a bird feel to be stripped of it's feathers?
Ask a magicians dove.
What is the correlation between disappearance and freedom?
Ask the buoy. You can't get 10 years back.