We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Almost.

We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.

Gorgeous is the woman
with storms in her eyes,
a bruised soul
and many scars
but still dares to open up,
to trust with her heart
and fall in love
that is a woman
who bleeds stardust
and cries
tears of pure love….

She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.

I can’t wait
Until i meet someone
Whom i’ll never
Write a terribly sad
Poem about

    - But i’ll wait

Soft
but still my loft.
You aren't rough
and tough
inherently-
but you can be.

Not for me only, you care
but for four you despair.
In this tournament of juggling
no one knew you were struggling.

How can you be so gentle
when the world treats you like a rental?
This makes me cry.
A heart so grand must never die.

I had a glimpse of uphill
shattered by your will.
I only knew something was wrong
'cause your stubble was a little long.

I peeked 'round the corner.
You didn't notice me- your daughter.
Your face was taught with wretched thoughts
but relaxed into love when I got caught.

You were trapped in your minds corner
where -no longer- it was a little warmer
The clouds looked like they hadn't been washed in a while.
But you still smiled.

When you say you admire another
for their unique kind of thunder-
I try to unblind you-
see: Only you can turn the sky cove blue
after a hurricane Sandy
makes my life feel unhandy.

You never ask if I Love you
cuz' you know I simply do.
I finally know why you're so rad-
cuz' you're sent from above, Dad.

- Tronel V.

How can I make these whites as uncomfortable as they make me?

Comparing skintones during the summer like there's anything to compare to, y'all just wanna brag about how brown y'all like to get without having to live like a *****.

Some masturbatory self ****, too pretentious to go to a tanning booth, but too cheap to treat ya skin right,
Y'all know that sunscreen is a must, but all I can think about when I go to the beach is tomato soup.

Y'all are the real red skins, but still dare to call yourself dark when y'all don't know what shade is. I can sit under an umbrella with long sleeves all day and still be brown by the time Autumn dries out the Summer leaves, I know y'all can't say the same.

Does it make you uncomfortable that I can other y'all?

White folk. Cracka. *****. Yall think that those are slurs? Where's the censor on TV then? Where's the national outrage? There isn't! But then when it comes to *****, oh then that's everybody's word. Like how ****** used to be everybody's word. Like how between ya ma-n-pops, they talk about how violent we ******* is... And y'all just listen... Complacent or uncaring, but still daring to say you're different.

Cut from a different cloth, you people got some nerve. And yes, you people, as in you white folk. Y'all better collect y'all's trash, like how incarcerated ****** collect it off the side of busy roads for free cos slavery never ended as neatly as y'all think it did.

Will y'all ever be uncomfortable over the right things?

Over black children being set up to go to prison from the moment they enter school because teachers give them more suspensions and detentions than anyone else?

That the FBI was found guilty of murdering Martin Luther King and has harassed him til he was shot?

That Lincoln never really cared about us *******, just wanted to win the war and ******* the south, no matter who suffered the most?

My fellow Americans, white that is, because in the census you're accepted as an American without question,

Y'all don't know the meaning of discomfort.