"what do you think of your body?" he asked me.

"it's a trick" I said, "wearing clothes that make me feel good, but once they're removed I'm huddled in a corner of my mind, afraid of my body once again."

"everything's a trick. that's what life does to you"

We seek attention,

Facebook,
Twitter,
Instagram,
Tinder,
Kik,
Snapchat,
It's all about the most
Likes,
Comments,
Retweets,
Favorites,
Snaps,
Followers,
Where have our real friendships gone?
When something goes wrong we post a selfie,
write a status,
send a snapchat,
or tweet about it.
For what?
For the hopes to hide our feelings on the internet.
For the hope that a stranger will like it,
That a stranger will leave a comment saying everything will be okay?
We have become numb.
Forgetting the real relationships in our lives.
When there's a problem, we escape to the internet for that next like instead of talking to someone who actually cares.
When we don't get the attention we're looking for, we post a #selfie to find what we're looking for.
Social media has become the new drug of our age,
And it's changing the way we live our day to day lives.

bright and brilliant
is what you are.
empowering and
majestic in every way
imaginable.

i could try to
escape, but you
flow faster than
my legs can sprint
and you'd end up in my
path again.

i could stare
into you forever
and find a new color
in your eyes
every time.

i could listen to
your voice on end
and never
grow weary of the
stories that spill.

you are hot
and boiling magma
racing towards me;
threatening my well-being,
but you have me too
in awe to flee.

faster and faster
you trickle in
my direction
down the
mountainside volcano.

then you reach me
and I'm buried and
burned under beautiful
****** lava that is you.

The way the sun breaks through
Clouds dark with rain

Above a city that doesn't mind
Either

Reminds me that somewhere 
Something

Really good is happening
To someone deserving

Right
Now

Please love me, although I have loved before.
Please know that even if
I have worshiped foreign hands,
Marveled at constellation eyes,
Shed tears for other minds and hearts
That tore from me some brutal, awesome love,
Know that nobody has ever made me feel safe
For any measurable length of time.
That not one of them ever stopped in the midst of kissing me to say
"You are just so beautiful."
The way you did, Lover,
2
3
4 times,
Just yesterday.
That all the flowers I ever gave them,
All the gifts and poems and artwork
All those things to show my love
Were tolerated
The way the sun is tolerated on a blistering summer day
Because to escape from it would be too difficult.
Know that I always knew that,
Felt it from them,
Felt shame for it.
And no matter how many photographs I have obsessively taken
Of a face I thought they must have molded the face of the sun after in every ancient carving,
Know that she never wanted me to see her.
And that that
COUNTS.
You looking up at me from those white sheets, Lover,
And never glancing away in embarrassment or apprehension
Counts:
Skin
Counts
To someone who has been held at arm's length for so many years.
Kisses count,
And I count them, every single one soothing the ache of the losses I never asked
To suffer.
It is true, you are not my first love.
But never have you pushed me away.
Never have you shut me down,
Never
Have you been cruel to me.
And all this
I find it counts
More than the awe I felt for those who would abuse me,
More than the fear and loss and devotion and destruction that they demanded
And then blamed me for the consequences of.
Although I have loved before,
Please, please, please love me now,
For that is something you can be
First at,
Lover.

"You don't look like you write poetry.."
Well, why not?
Is it because I am an athlete?
Is it because you misinterpret my personality?
Is it so hard to believe,
I can put my thoughts down
In a way I feel better?
Tell me,
Tell me please.
What does a poet look like?
Do all of them look the same?
Act the same?
Messy hair and beanies.
Scarves and hot tea.
Hipsters.
Suicidal or lovestruck.
Black or white.
The "artsy" types.
Typical stereotypical ideas of poets.
But we are not the same.
We are all different,
Except for one thing,
We all understand each other.
So please never judge me again,
Just because you don't understand
Our world.

It's over!
Its behind me
I've let it go
The pain that held me ransom in its throes

No longer hurting,
No longer killer
My life is much more complete and fuller

I've learnt my lessons, my time beckons
A chance to live now freely
A time to discover

Between a baby's first word
And a deathbed confession
There are plenty of times
For God to say,
“I told you so.”

gazing at my front porch
I don't see an empty
concrete rectangle with one couch
I see plants sprouting up
I see deep talks with friends
sitting at night under the open sky
the palm trees wafting gently
I see a new chapter
full of laughter and growth
I see a little garden
that I can call
home

(temporarily)