The endless waking
In my sleep
Because of the
Nightmares
That are in repeat.
Each one,
Is a reflection of my daily life.
And with each one I die.
I die not because of the evil
That is rampant within the society.
I die because
My darkness,
My despair,
My sadness,
Consumes the air which I breath.
Leaving me helpless
And worthless,
Like a piece of trash
Drifting on the ground.

I am from my grandmother,who snuck out of the house to smoke camel non-filtered

I am from the middle of nowhere, not far from town.

I am from the pine tree with a water hose tied on it, where I imagined  I was Indiana Jones.

I am from the woods, where the cicadas sang at night.

I am from the kudzu that blanketed the trees and menaced the garden.

I am from the apple trees in the front yard, whose fruit                         never turned red.

I am from the middle of nowhere, not far from town.

I am from my grandfather’s plaid pockets, where he would pull out                     suckers.

I am from my father’s mustang that i crashed into the driveway.

I am from my great-grandfather’s picture, proudly displayed on the              wooden mantle.

I am from my grandmother’s bible stories, in the back bedroom where she read every night.

I am from the middle of nowhere, not far from town.

I am from Highway 494, where the trees were leveled to build subdivisions.

I am from the soft red clay and moist brown earth of the backyard.

I am from the moonlight I could see from the top of my house late at night.

I am from the sweltering heat and uncut grass in the front yard.

I am from the middle of nowhere, not far from town.

I am from the small cemetary past the corner store, where my grandfather      lies next to my grandmother,

and my father next to her.

I am from Uptown New Orleans, where my daughter learns her A.B.C’s in the back bedroom

where she prays every night

I am from the brown bag from the Shell station that i fill with suckers, and sneak to her when her mom isn’t watching.

I am from the picture of us dancing at a music festival, her on my shoulders, displayed proudly on the wooden mantle.

I am not from from anywhere, in the middle of town

Why is it
That you only look
for stars
When there is no moon
And it is dark

Why is it
That you only know
what you had
When it is time
to say goodbye

Why is it
That the things we have
Always have to wait
While we seek the things
We might never get

Why is it
Among the greenery
of the spring
We forget about the autumn leaves that flew away

Why Is it
I have always grieved
for loss more strongly
than I ever
Felt the love

Why is it
That I always write about things
When it is a little too late
And they are already gone;
Their meanings belittled



Why is it
We are too busy wondering
why someone loves us
Instead of confessing
we feel the same


Why is it
We stare at a moment
till it slips
right out of  our hand
And blurs into a forlorn memory


Why Is it
That we wait
to be sure
Till a chance becomes
another what if

hi,
hello.

You might not know me but, I promise.
I know you.

You are kind but not afraid to be shaken.

You have words that need to be spoken.

You are the universe in motion,
a potion.

Concocted by the mighty hand Himself.
You are here to reveal yourself.

and find self...
all at the same time.

So, hello.

hi.
I couldn't tell you my name. even if I wanted.

And, you don't have to tell me yours...

Cause, I'm sure you don't know either.
But that is why I am here.

Saying these words.
These very rhymes. Because I know you.

I am just a reflection.

Would you mind...
holding up a mirror.

So I can know me too.

Pinipili ng mga mata ko
ang nais nitong makita
sapagkat tanda ko noon
lahat ay sadyang tinitignan
lahat ay gusto nitong masilayan at
maobserbahan ngunit ngayon
parang nais na lamang
pumikit at manirahan sa dilim

Pinipili ng mga mata ko*
ang nais nitong makita
at ikaw ang napili ng mga ito
kahit ang pakiramdam ay parang
nasa dilim ngunit maliwanag at kitang-kita
na iba ang dahilan
kung bakit ika’y masaya
at kapiling ang iba

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud,
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is ******, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
      I am the captain of my soul.

we would be jazz—
smooth, mellow,
soul-damning.

burning with slow passion
or running and stumbling with joyous laughter.
no matter where we go—
up or down,
fast or slow,
we’d hit all the right notes,
replete with trills and runs,
bringing us to both highs and lows,
making beautiful melodies.

though sometimes
we seem to be out of sync,
it does not discount
from the beauty
that is us.

nothing subtracts.

there is only harmony,
no cacophony.
simplicity or complexity,
staccato or legato,
we will always be
jazz.

to love a poet, kiss him when he bleeds, kiss him deep,
make love to him when he is dead, so passionate that he shall chose to rise,
and then he becomes your dog, and you his home.
that's more than that can be asked and that you'd know

weariness of the bones
often
entails that of the soul

each in itself
can be enough
to make you crave
a friendly touch
  a word of love

when both compound
and there is none
  of the above
your heart grows heavy
   as a leaden pound
sunshine goes pale
rain turns into a flood
your soul turns cold
   and shivers
with the absence
of a loving sound