I wish my hands could explore your body like astronauts in the cosmos
Your eyes, like interstellar stars, connecting to the inconceivable constellation network that are your thoughts, like safe havens for space travelers.

I would pin you to the edges of a galaxy.
Kiss you like I were being ****** into a black hole and our lips were all that was holding me back, and as the dark unforgiving void that is something I can’t even comprehend begins to devour my being, I would be satisfied with this universal exploration of a life.

I would paint you into a celestial being.
Astronomers would gaze in awe.
No matter the eccentricity, My gravity would forever rotate amid such a pulchritudinous space.

Amid something so milky.

To Love You Is To Love Malnourished.

You used to serve I Love Yous with my Morning Coffee.
Kisses With My Creamer.
Sing “You Are My Sunshine” With My Sugar.
Stir It up in a blender.

To Love You Is To Love Malnourished.

You Used to ask Questions About My Day.
Serve Feedback With My Steak.
Sing To The Records That I’d Play.
I Think About You Every Day.

To Love You Is To Love Malnourished

Now Days and Nights are all too Similar.
Missing You Has Become All Too Familiar.
I Miss You In The Summer, The Fall, And The Winter.
I Look into the Mirror.
At My Figure Without Filter.
I Don’t Know My Mom, My Dad, Or My Sister.
Tears Flow Like a River.

To Love You Is To Love Malnourished

To Wake up at Midnight.
Write a Poem about the Moonlight.
Write our Names out and then Rewrite
You’re My Busted Up Brake Light
Unable to Fly Box Kite
Poems That I Recite
Late To School Stop Lights
Oklahoma Frostbite

To Love You Is To Love Malnourished
Look at Every Picture.
Listen to The Scriptures.
Wish That I Could Be With Her.
Wish Our Love Was Thicker, and Richer, and Didn’t Go Quicker.

To Love You Is To Love Malnourished

When The One That You Love You Have To Unsee.
They What You Love You Have To Set Free.
Choice A was to Love, She Choose Choice B.
Call Me Rude, Hateful, and OutRight Obscene.
But To love You Like I Do Is Painful and Weak.

To Love You Is To Love Malnourished.

Sometimes, I swear I can feel my chest concaving at the thought of you.
I find interest in the fact that sometimes I want to be near you, but sometimes,  I wish you were an ocean away.

Sometimes I look at my mother,  and pray I'm not like her, but other times,  I wish I could be more like her because that would make my life so much easier.

Sometimes, I cry alone at night.
I sit unaccompanied and begin to gorge myself on memories and guilt that I am certain will forever haunt me.
And during the day.
I think about how many more days I must suffer before I can be me freely.

Sometimes, I wish I was as much of a physical man as my brother is.  
Because sometimes,  like when we have a relatives birthday, or a celebration, he is glorified for his ability to be ox-like.
And while I sit here only weighing 130 pounds and having the strength of a rubber chicken I feel as though every bit of breath I breathe is not with the carbon my lungs put out.

Sometimes I think about you.
And how you're with him.  
And it makes me sick.
Because sometimes. . .
I wish sometimes didn't exist

When my friend committed suicide, I didn’t find out directly.
I found out through a teacher. I was called in the office later that day along with everyone connected with my group of friends.


We sat there, and as the counselor told us why suicide was bad they gave us a pamphlet from the back wall.


How? How could they put suicide alongside ******, ecstasy, ***, AIDS, Party Drugs, Teen Alcohol, Texting and Driving.
Depression is not something offered at parties or given out for 20$ a pop. Depression doesn’t make you tipsy or destroy brain cells.
FREDDIE MERCURY DIDN”T DIE FROM DEPRESSION.


Like that pamphlet my eyes were opened.
Bi-Folded and Arranged like an informational epiphany

The first thing that I noticed when I walked into the psychiatric hospital was how cold the floor tiles were.
You See, they took my shoes off because I was a thirteen year old, five and one half foot, one hundred and ten pound threat.
I made grown men think I was off my edge...and looking back on me, I was.


I mean, killing myself? That’s the ultimate game show bet.
“WHAT’S BEHIND CURTAIN NUMBER DEATH” I seemed to ask myself.
And also, what games would I have to play to get there.
How long do you have to hang to die?
How much blood would it take to bleed to death?
How fast does my mother have to be going on the freeway to make my jumping death quick?
HOW MUCH OXYCODONE DO I HAVE TO STEAL FROM MY ABUSIVE STEP FATHERS DRAWER?
Someone would have to be mad to even bother looking behind that curtain.


But like I said, the first thing i noticed was the floor tiles.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Today I am Taking You to an Amusement Park.
You Know It? It’s right between Bastardville and LonelyTown.


My favorite ride is depression, it goes so far down!
Abuse is like a Kiddie Ride.
The Bully Stand has the best Food imaginable.


Oooooooo, or have you been to The Freak Show?
It’s by the Broken Home Balloon Stand.
Ooooo, The tension on insecurity, and G-Force on Divorce will drive you WILD.


I love the Rejection food stand, they have some delicacies like the slit wrist salad bar, or even the starvation sandwich.


Shall I Go On?
The final ride is called SUICIDE, often times it breaks down, but when you ride it you won’t want to leave....

It was all a blur...the day I met you
A headache of which 200 MG of Ibuprofen would not satisfy
You might as well have cut my forehead open and questioned if its contents were love or lust
I didn’t know
I had a headache

Oh it was a doozy
Whew Whew Whew
Thoughts whizzed around my head in zip a dee doo das
Fugazi's of  Love or Lust
I don’t know
I have a headache