From my window,
in corner of an eye,
see a pink flamingo.

Broad curves,
into familiar shape,
grounded legs,
Iron weighted.

Been there
for years,
quietly sitting,
amongst roses.

Pushed by storms,
changing winds,
yet surprising,
inner strength.

Retains balance,
keeps small piece,
staked out,
of much larger plot.

Slowly losing,
it's distinctive hues.
Dissolving,
fuchsia to palest pink.

Every family
has their own,
pale pink flamingo

What do you do
When you can't escape your dreams
Can't run from all the things
You never want to see
Can't hide from all the thoughts
That were never meant to be

Like a storm that comes down
Drop by drop

RIP in SC

History only repeats
Until the lessons are learned
Keeping faith in the streets
Not locked up at home
They killed the abolitionists
Years and years ago
Here we are with iPhones
The fight is still going on

I remember
How I forgot
Walking back with you
Over what I was under
Fed up with things
We walked back
From their apartment
To my place
Sat out on the bed
Smoking
You get a call
About your grandfather
In tears I walked you back
In tears I did too

Terror ridden
She struck his head
With blows of regret
Misinformation
And terrible ***

i want to be with you
whether it is loud
or in silence
i want to be with you
in the evening, in the morning
and in between times

i want to be with you
whether evidently
or in between lines
i want to be with you
to speak, to think
to cry,  to laugh, to live

i want to be with you
no matter if it rains
or the sun is shining
i want to be with you
whether sitting, standing
or lying

i want to be with you
and experience much
taking and giving a lot
i want to be with you
in all times, in all places
for every reason

Drama is always on our tails;
Thank God I never learned to look behind me.

have you ever believed
in something so blindly
so genuinely
that the moment you realize
it isn't true, something inside you
changes forever?
i wanna tell you a story, see
seldom do i ever
go swimming in drinks
deep enough to drown in
but when i do
i speak in tongues
about things that none
of my memories
are allowed to talk about
like that christmas
at the isthmus
where my girlfriend
plucked a conch shell
whiter than gods teeth
out of the sand
held it to her ear
and stopped time
that day she was a shade of blue
the could've made the ocean sick
see, she loved to play jokes
when she held
the sea shell to her ear
she gasped, called my name
and said "i want you to hear this"
i said "yeah, right, everybody knows it's just the same old sea"
she replied "no. not this one. this one is special. listen. theres music in this one"
she handed me the shell
like a promise she couldn't keep
and i held it to my ear
with all the potential
of seeing shore
after being stranded
at sea for years
only to hear
a tired dirge of silence
spill from its emptiness
i guess she didn't know
how desperately
i wanted to hear it too
because ever since
something inside me snapped
now sand pours out
of every post card i open
i hear seagulls
in telephone static
sometimes i have dreams
where i bury my hands
in every beach
i've ever been on
and exhume this graveyard of noise
every time i try to sleep
i spit up fishhooks
and i guess i'm obsessed
but maybe
if i hold my ear
to enough vacant things
then i could have back
the time stolen from me
since it happened
maybe they would get it
if they knew what i wanted
when i blow out birthday candles
maybe they'll find me
face down in a wishing well
i watch eternal sunshine
of the spotless mind every day
pretending i can forget too
because this sea sickness
has followed me for years
because yesterday
i walked into a music shop
and all the pianos broke
but the only thing
i can think to say is
*do you know how bad
a memory has to be
that you fantasize
about forgetting it?

I spend
hours
listening to
music
that no one
else likes.
I draw on myself:
my arms,my clothes are
covered in pen

When I younger,
I would eat the
junk food
my grandma gave me
when driving me home
from school.
I lied to my parents
about eating the food;
"No,Mom,
no,Dad,
I didn't eat
what Grandma gave
me."
I always lied to my parents
but they found out anyway
and they never believed me
again.

My sweetest addiction
is lies,
sugary fantasies
that never fill you up
The gluttony just makes you hungrier
for the
truth.
Today I am
an honest person,
but I still crave lies.

But
if I crave lies,
why do I also
want the
truth?