gabriel bates

gabriel bates Apr 2015

i wrote this poem. it hurt. each letter of it. hurt. people like this? i hate every poem i write. it's a necessary evil. that's all. i've never been good at playing numb. the trap i was born into is kept clean now. i write, it hurts. something hurts so i write. oh, i'll say i don't. but i do.

gabriel bates Apr 2015

rough hands

the dirt on my hands resembles blood. i've gotten too good at this. my shovel kisses the earth. one more returns to where we all began. the blood is dirt, the dirt is blood. these hands are rough & the shovel knows more than it should.

gabriel bates Apr 2015

somewhere on grand

how many ghosts live in these walls? family photos harbor dust. boxes cover the floorspace. furniture moves, it's unsettling. the impermanence of it all makes this place seem dead. it's odd how many things one person can own & still have nothing. love used to flow through each room. all that's left is dust. you can't make a home out of an empty building. you're just moving furniture around now. & when you leave, each memory will stay. the word 'home' will not be said here again. it's finally silent, save for the echoes.

gabriel bates Apr 2015

one rose

broadway is black except for red & blue flashing lights. traffic comes to a halt then quickly resumes its slow crawl down the road. nothing happened. somewhere a fire is extinguished. a star explodes. all the roses wither away. a gardener hopes & prays that they'll maybe grow. no amount of sound could muffle the pounding of a heart with one beat left. on this darkened street corner, i watch one rose wilt.

gabriel bates Mar 2015

harmony hall

i watch my niece take newly learned steps through the halls of the nursing home her parents work at. death cannot touch her. "it's sad how many empty rooms there are here, i remember when they were full." one day these voices won't echo. innocence is bliss & i've watched it walk those now silent halls in baby shoes.

gabriel bates Mar 2015

the house roars

my emotional state is all over the map. the house roars & with it, the brain. i miss the calm before the storm. peace is a lie. memories are made while thinking about how great a memory this moment will one day be. i miss living in the moment. years drag along, their feet are tired. the geography of emotion cracks slowly.

gabriel bates Mar 2015

walk tall

my father always told me to walk tall. i remember heading home with a ****** nose & no headphones. the next night we walked together. you will not be scared. i've grown since then.