I learned to hate when I was 10
and studied my flaws first:
frayed and wispy hair,
weak and bony shoulders,
and a smile more crooked
than old, crumbling floorboards,
(a calloused thumb to blame).

When my only few took to rushing out,
like blood from an open vein,
I wasn't surprised: Everybody leaves,
and why wouldn't you?
Soon my house would have
one less body, leaving alone
to sleep in another empty bed.

When I was 16 I tore myself apart
on the bathroom floor at 4AM.
I knew it was my fault
that she didn't love me.
I saw every reason in the mirror.
I chewed my lips to blood and scars
and tore my brittle hair from its roots.

I studied my flaws like a science,
measuring the chips and stains
on my teeth, still crooked
like an uprooted house.

The difference between
knowing YOUR ****
and knowing YOU'RE ****.

I've been to Paris
seen the city
unwind in flashes of art before me
but do not be fooled
by the amateur writers' ideals
for Paris is full of stores
with neon signs in the windows
which read
******,
*** toys,
bisexual,
gay,
videos,
and lubricants
in perfect English
Paris is full of
hotels and hustlers
African men,
met us off the ferry
and tried to sell us lighters
and fake watches
And the homeless line the street
like unfortunate corpses
and there are areas
of great dangerous people
full of edge and hate
but at night
the cathedrals
Notre Dame
and the the landmarks
are lit up like supernovas
and it is enough to make you forget
forget all that is ugly
and wrong with the place
so if you wish to seek Paris
just remember,
you have to see beauty
through the ugly

They sent Daddy home
from suicide watch—
he was bound to lose it someday.
Mom locked up the
kitchen knives.
She comes back to me,
her quivering voice
delivers some deluded promise,

“He said he won’t hurt himself,
I’m just being safe.”

The house is still silent with absence,
he stares at the wall—
hidden in the basement
like the last twenty thirty years
of some void of a life,
guarded by an eggshell
cracked by decades of denial.

You aged ten years in a weekend, Daddy,
And I always feared I’d bury you
before I witnessed my first grey hair,
silver like the lining
of some magical cloud
I can’t seem to distinguish
in this homogenous fog, looming
in the bleak and inescapable sky
hovering over me
with careless indifference

I knew there’d be a day like this,
only now has it come true.
I knew you couldn’t love me, Daddy,
You never loved you, too.