I sit within a capsule of black lit up by a burning star
sister of so many others too numerous to count
spoiled for choice like a child set loose in a candy store
I hastily pluck distant suns and drop them into my paper bag
******* on their beauteous colours like so many Gobstoppers
this child of the Universe finally falls silent feasting its eyes.

Quietly and alone,
a flower blushes
in the cactus garden.

Viciously and slow,
the flower is pricked
by the venomous spines.

Sitting on a rock, sweatpants and sneakers
Long hair, skinny, looking out, wind blows
Fir tree needles scratch the back of my neck,
Eyes locked on to a pod of whales, orcas
Breathing fast because I ran to get there
Close my eyes and let the wind toss my hair,
It's cold, and the air smells like lavender
And I pull my knees to my chest, smiling

Our future is in the hands of the dreamers
The creators, the doers, the believers
The ones that see the glass half full
The ones that are willing to push and pull
And fight for a better tomorrow
The ones with enough genius to be borrowed
We need to stand up with them, and stay extant
And make that tomorrow our present

When writing is forced usually it turns into compleat ****

i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
"uh oh, ****"
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
  1991
on live television
montel williams asks my father
"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"
   1994
i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
   1996
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
   2013
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says "why don't you joke
about something like your family?"
so i say
"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"
i say "what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"
before he has a chance
to answer
i say "1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and
leave"
   2014
every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."
and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried