The flavor of my youth
was skateboards and punk rock
heavy metal and mischief
walking through Cary town
with pockets full of change
and crushed singles
sodas in hand
and skateboards under the other arm
in the gated community we lived in
we would find the houses
where we knew the owners were away on vacation
and we took to the stairs on four wheels
to glide through the air like arrows shot from some towering bow
made of concrete and asphalt
and we went to shows in the city
dressed in the armor of wristbands, ripped jeans, and faded band shirts
drunk on our parents’ beer and skunk ****
drunk on the promise of a night open to any footfall we chose
and we jumped up and down in mosh pits
just trying to feel anything real
anything which tasted like living
we stalked from house to house cloaked in the witching hour
and pillaged our knick knacks from the garages of neighbors we never knew
padded fingertips pressing against doorbells
1...2...3…
now run
we didn’t have time for school
or the teachers trying to bring us down
but we always had time to trek through the woods with a bowl
smoking **** until we got to the mall
where we ******* around until mall security chased us out
we did not always make the greatest decisions
but I am **** glad I made them

As kids we played football
maybe you call it soccer
but it doesn’t matter
There was this pitch
in the park across the street
from my childhood town
tucked away in my memory
like distant church bells
and the smell of honeysuckle
on that pitch we played world cup
or full scale games if enough kids were out
and we got competitive
mud tracks and red thighs
never actually keeping track of the score
just who was playing best
and if I’m honest
it wasn’t often me
but it was never about the game
it was about the bonds we developed
on the field all building towards the same goal
a picture of crossbars
and side netting
and grass greener than it could be
in any other slice of time
and the sound
the sound of leather boot smacking against the ball
still wet with rainfall from the night before
we played football as kids
because at times
it was the only thing that made any

hold on to the small victories
these are the hand and foot holds
that your survival clings to
there will be an avalanche
rock slide
mud slide
of rejection and doubt and defeats
but these small victories
a comment from a stranger
or something greater
have roots which run deep
and at times you have to say
kiss my animus
*******
and hold on
like your life depends on it

A mother is a nightlight
a mother is the stinging of alcohol on grazed knees
I know it hurts
but it’s good for you
a mother is the seat belt
which saved you from hurtling towards the street
on forest hill ave and westover hills blv
the scene of the accident
a mother picks you up
and a mother pushes you into the deep end
a mother is four phone calls in a row at eight AM
okay I love you, bye… and one more thing…
A mother is your first happy meal
and your first time using the grown up menu
a mother is kitchens full of the scents which bring us home
no matter how far we might stray from the path
A mother’s love is unconditional
a mother’s love is maddening
a mother’s love is keeping you from going over the edge
and clean sheets
and bike rides to the park
My mother is calling me home
yelling out the living room window into silent earth
urging me to come home for dinner
and I’ve gotta get around to going home soon
because I am hungry
and a mother is your favorite meal
every single day

the roads were slick with ice
at 2pm on a saturday it was 13 degrees
the wind wasn’t a breeze but a bite
the light reflecting from the snow
was blinding
I was going on a walk
because I don’t exercise nearly as much as I should
and today
I felt good
step after step after step
picking up pace
a smile spreading across my face
the strangers I passed
weren’t strangers at all
but long lost brothers and sisters
I never got the chance
to stop and sit with
but when eye contact connects us together
something in their face let me know
that they felt it as well
we are all navigating the ups and downs of this city
the ugly the witty the pretty the ******
just bricks -
on our own, we aren’t much
but at times when we come together
we form odes to the fact that the human spirit can weather any storm
when deflating lungs feel worn
and some bonds become torn
there will always be someone rooting for you
standing on the sideline
saying good luck
I know that I follow in your footsteps
and that means that we have to tread carefully
avoid the thin ice
and pitfalls
no more runner’s walls
cars stalled in the winter morning
but whether you tread towards nicer weather
or walk tight circles around the city blocks with a song stuck in your head
just know that the important thing
is you have to take that first step

You need not walk alone on this path
at times it seems like you are completely alone
in the middle of an alpine mountain range
surrounded on all sides
by thick snow so white it covers your world in blackness
no you needn’t walk alone
in fact you can’t in some spots
you need a support net
a network of supportive people
with hands waiting to catch you
when you fall
and you will fall
I can guarantee it
do not be the hermit
slowly losing touch and losing his mind in his shed
be the person who people would want
standing beneath them
waiting to catch them
when they inevitably fall

Not all monsters have bodies
no,
some monsters are whispers in the middle of the night
the whispers which never stop
they come rising up from the pit of your stomach
the back of your neck
and the lungs in your chest
these monstrous whispers
creeping in from open window
on full moon nights
they say the things
which we know aren’t right
but we believe anyway
these voices
they say things
like you are not good enough
just give up
know when enough is enough
they laugh in moments of silence
come creeping in with self-doubt
not a whimper
not a shout
just a sense of stillness when the lights go out
keeping you up at night on the edge of a knife
too exhausted
to keep up the fight
you worry
how long will these monsters have their foothold
in the panicked pounding of my eardrums?
these monsters which spit on self-love
and lick their gums at the sight
of a broken down frown
of a person wound too tight
but these monsters don’t have bodies
arms legs claws and fangs
these monsters are just voices
all you have to do is drown them out