it’s been a while since i’ve written poetry.
a lot has changed and i feel very different now. the weight of my own name has settled better on my tongue. summer is beginning and they say it’s going to be a hot one, an indian summer stretching long into the autumn months, unexpected but not unwelcome. an old friend saying goodbye one last time. the warmth with last until i myself have to say goodbye one last time. right now time moves slow under the heat like a fly in amber, sticky saccharine stretching between its wings. i know better than to trust this lethargic flow of heartbeats. if i do, the end will sneak up on me, creeping in the shadows of the places that are too dark to see into. i try to ignore these places. i’m not sure i know how to be alone and i do not know how i will fare after these last few warm months of childhood. i get the feeling that i am leaving something behind.

the women on my father's side of the family are quiet
they are traditionalists, rooted in the ways of the women who came before them
i have watched them shrink before the voices of men
wilting like flowers do when the nights are longer than expected
it is not their fault
they have not been taught any differently
the women on my father's side of the family are small
delicate bones and feet made for tip toeing around hushed rooms
voices made for apologizing for things that they can not control
their lineage traces its way back through generations
they have shaky hands, yet have mastered the art of threading needles
i watch them, and something tugs at my heart, but i do not know why
i fear it is pity

the women on my mother's side of the family are loud
they have laughs that carry like the notes of a symphony
bold and unapologetic, sure footed in its own presence
they are the center of attention
at times the center of gravity as well
the women on my mother's side of the family are tall
they take up space and are not ashamed of it
sometimes it is called brashness
i always saw it as courage
they taught me how to sleep in on sundays and how to walk like i am
not afraid and how to hold my keys in between my fingers like daggers
i watch them, and something tugs at my heart, but i do not know why
i fear it is because i do not know if i will ever be able to be like them

you see, i am equal parts one as i am the other
as much as i would like to be brazen and unafraid
i cannot forget the reflexes inherited  
these things cannot be unlearned
they have been ingrained into hollow bones
however, if this is true, it must also be true that somewhere beneath this lies the kind of fearlessness that dances on tables and is not afraid of who watches
i have seen this courage in my mother, and her mother, and the women before them
one day i will steady these shaky hands and find that courage
until then i tip toe around hushed rooms and apologize for things that i cannot control
i am equal parts one as i am the other

neither one of us knows how to be angry quietly
we learned that from our parents
when things got bad it was hurricanes in the living room
or the front seat of your car
but when things were good it was magic
because neither one of us knows how to love quietly either
we learned that from each other

you are a star in a street-lamp sky burning fiercely amidst the dull monotony
in every universe we find each other
in every life i look up & see your light
& i smile
for i have been here before

it should be noted that girls don't always come from venus, that some boys might be a little deader than they were before they claimed you took their breath away.
some girls have barbed wire around their hearts, and others have white flags. some boys have touched more cigarettes than thighs, more blades in the bathroom sink than the ones in her shoulders. the city might whisper the name of one boy and tremble at the thought of another; a girl might  have a hit list with only one name on it — her own. some boys will **** just to say they lost their virginity and some boys will spend the rest of their lives making love as though they could gain it back; some girls have lost their tears and sweat in the upholstery of the same car that might belong to one of these boys — and some of those same boys are sweaty handprints on the backseat windows while others are fingerprints on your throat, but no matter how you look at it, he will always leave his mark, won't he?
it should be noted that some girls will miss you like hiroshima playgrounds miss the laughter of young children, but others will miss you like an 11:30 flight at 11:31, and i bet you never knew that some boys will never tell you that they miss their father just as much as some girls calling everyone else 'daddy' except for the one they truly need; you'd never believe me if i said that some girls look at the night sky where they used to see their reelection in the stars, but now only see another broken mirror.
it should be noted, that not all boys are from mars.

i will stop writing poetry like a eulogy when you start making me feel alive