Poems aren't stories, but I'll tell you one anyway
This tale isn't a happy one, so be warned if you stay
I met a boy, it was about a year back
I thought he was funny, but it wasn't much more than that
I spent three months chasing a different boy, I thought he was quite the find
Little did I know that the first boy; I was always on his mind
And so came the time where I gave up on boy number two
For a while I kept to myself, I still didn't think about you
Then suddenly one day, I opened my eyes
And after that you stood out from all other guys
I made a brave move, and I dared you to play
You were up for the game, but I didn't know if you'd stay
It only took one move, our romance rolled into action
I'd sneak into your house, we craved that passion
It didn't take long for you to slip that big word
But the word "girlfriend" was the happiest thing I'd ever heard
Now listen here, this may sound silly
But you were my first, and I couldn't help but worry
Come the end August, I knew you'd have to leave
College isn't something we could take on with ease
But you wrote that letter, I believed every promise you said
I believed in them so much, I memorized them in my head
"Don't forget about me, I know I won't forget about you"
You thought I was lying, but I remember that line too
It wasn't easy, but I say we did pretty well
Little did I know we were headed for hell
College is a busy place, school takes up a lot of time
But for your girlfriend, a lot of that time was mine
I'd hear from you less, and you'd apologize when you could
So I'd just smile and forgive you like I knew that I should
I knew what I was getting into, I was prepared for the fights
He thought he was too, but not for the lonely nights
Ill bet you didn't see this next one coming, it's such a plot twist
He texted me one night, this boy that I missed
He texted me, the boy I didn't notice for a very long time
He texted me, the boy who I now labeled as mine
He texted me, the boy I dared to play a game
He texted me, the boy who said he'd always feel the same
He texted me, the boy who I'd sneak out to see
He texted me, the boy whom I loved, with that he'd agree
He texted me to tell me a relationship wasn't going to last
And suddenly, in four text messages you became a thing of the past
He texted me. No, he did not call
And because of that, my world began to fall
But wait it's not over, don't walk away
I've realized something, and it's something I'd like to say
I don't care who reads this, the audience should be unclear
Didn't you notice, I used the word 'you' in places you shouldn't hear
There's only one person who I care about reading this
And I want him to know something, my last opportunity was missed
I do not hate you, but I do hate this one part
It's the only thing I hate, it's straight from the heart
I hate that you couldn't stand up to me, I hate that you couldn't even call
But you know what else, I hate that I still don't hate you
I don't hate you at all

I fell for a girl with a glass heart
And watched as she  
Slowly fell apart
Picking up the pieces
And putting her back together
Meant knowing that she
Wouldn't do the same
No matter how much I helped her
Despite the cuts she left
On my hands
I wouldn't have wished
For he to be made of gold
Because instead of being
A caring canvas
I would have been the coal
Sacrificed in order
To make her glow

Oh, sad Poet,
cartographer
of the heart,
mapping the geography
where sadness
is the topography
of your soul.

Oh, Cousteau
of the changing tides,
like an oceanographer,
an admiral  spying
the enemy on the horizon.
Your sorrow comes and goes.

Oh, builder of sad dreams
in your house of many rooms,
but one door. Like a grave,
a casket shellacked with
black paint, a mural
of a shadow on the wall.
Architectural sorrow.

Oh, you sad Poet,
open your eyes,
paint us a poem of a rose.

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

you

tried on my suit that night to
“see

how much space you took up” in it
your yellow dress looked like a hazard in the

moonlight.
turn head once, twice
your slight hands, like china,
foreign now.
In January, you tasted like cinnamon.
Now, in

August you taste like wheat.

You fold my sweaters like packages
and always offer to peel my oranges.

To you, attacks and bombs have rendered me incapable.

My mind is your Brillo pad,
and like my suit -
overwhelmed and ill-fitting -
I don’t see you in it.