what do I do with this heart,
how do I console it?

awake and electric
only to signs feeling true
also--a starved animal of sorts
clawing to the bliss of youth
beating time just a little off
with the lungs of my history
this is the tragedy that sets me apart
from the rest of my frail body

and so--heedless pumping.
tolling for everything unforgiving.
here, the lacerations of palpable lies
running parallel to the coronary vein
deep within my living
and here too, the ****** scars to remind
myself, the bigger and louder the
beating gets to finally leave the past behind
each day swelling to the point of failure
and the world stops,
but my heart endures.

what do I do with this heart,
how can I do without it?

There is nothing         more tasteless
   than the sweet nothings        you      
gloss me over
               like icing on a vile
          honeysuckle cake
already--
                                             *--burnt

It's been drilled in every poor man's head,
by a man only slightly less poor
"money cannot buy happiness."
But I disagree!
If you say that,
You have not watched your father scream at God at 7 in the morning,
questioning His existence,
as we get kicked out of
the second house that year.

I no longer find excitement
in new places.

You've never waited for the first of the month.
Every month.
In order to eat something other than spaghetti
and dollar store hot dogs.

You've never had your power shut off for an entire month
And watch as your family rips apart,
boiling water on the stove just to bathe.

Your parents owe everyone money.

You've never worked in order to buy your cleats, yearbooks, and school supplies.
Only to have your parents take that money, too.

You can send your vibes,
and tell me to think positive.
But the world is distorted!
Our lives are only better now because my family got jobs.

Before,
I watched a bulldozer
go through the house I grew up in,
as the bank sold our home
and built an auto-parts store over dirt
I used to ride my bike on.
The last pieces of my grandmother, crumbled.
My father stayed up every night
and slept through every holiday and birthday, since.

Is that happiness?