...
Drew,
the ashtray is full again

1.)  As I write this to you now, the doves were bleeding diamonds
2.)  And to this very day, I still find your name is in every cigarette the ocean's ever smoked
3.)  I wonder if you remembered the time we realized that flowers preferred the taste of blood over water...
4.)  Or the time we sipped some of the moon's tea; and realized that our teacups were gifts from her lover, the sun
5.)  Distance isn't constant, it's overgrown like the lucid garden that I planted in honor of my wolf girl; yet you were the one who tended it with me as if it was your own
6.)  I know, I know; I didn't thank you enough for all those moments as you held me when time melted into puddles at my feet
7.)  I wrote God a simple letter, still haven't heard from him about how you're doing yet...
8.)  "Unfortunately, on some nights my grief tastes all too silver again"
9.)  You feared all the talents that flowered in the dark and I remember the second you realized I too, was one of them
10.)  Your voice shed sapphire fireworks in my room and what I wouldn't give to see that one more time
11.)  Sleepy roses dribbled down the walls of your hospital room whenever I visited and played with your hair
12.)  The milky way shed it's fickle skins-- and sometimes when the dawn's shoulders snap into place I can hear your laughter echoing along the ribs of the sky
13.)  Your name was a natural disaster born on my pink tongue and delivered by my quaking lips and I can feel the clouds turning in their sleep
14.)  I suppose that you were a cigarette yourself
15.)  And you knew I was the lighter, but you hung around anyways
16.)  Every time I see a shooting star, I'll know that it's you in heaven just throwing away your cigarette so you don't get caught...

I think you were my bad habit
...

To the boy I met two days ago,
With words designed to suit the solitude I've wanted me heart to cave in.
And the smile that made security no longer appear as a faraway myth but was now as close to me as your inhale and exhale across my neck.
I could feel your heartbeat,
And the way it raced marathons to convince me that it wasn't just oxygen you were taking in, but with each inhale was a piece of me I'll never be able to recover.
And when you held me, I reluctantly allowed the walls of my mind to romp into temporary forevers
But soon I was yet to discover an abstract truth
From what you whispered in my left ear.
You'd given me detailed descriptions of your childhood games that were enough for me to conclude that you liked to play -
With stones
And sticks
And Lego bricks
But never,
Never did I think you were capable of playing a round of hide-and-go-seek with my feelings.
I feel kisses on my cheek,
As I continue reminiscing about the first words you spoke to me,
that night.
If only I'd known your "Hello" was filled with deceit that concealed it's rise to defeat me.
I was under the impression that a fall into an empty ditch of your promises wouldn't leave me scarred.
To the boy I met two days ago,
You asked me why I struggle with trust issues,
Knowing **** well that two days later you'd reaffirm my bitterness for your entire species.
Don't call me stupid.
Don't even mouth the word, "Crazy"
I remember.. that night.
Being oblivious to everything you uttered,
I took all of it to heart.
And everyone knows I usually doubt a guy's intentions at the start
But this time
This time I was just as naive as those girls I tease for believing in guys like you.
Hypocrisy -
That's what I became a product of.
Even now, I'm still trying so desperately to have a little faith in the things you're telling me.
This - This isn't a merry-go-round, right?
You won't take me to Cloud Nine and then tell me to jump off, right?
Tell your girlfriend I said hey.
Go hide the fact that you asked me out that night,
Then made me feel guilty for saying no.
The next time you see her, look deep into her eyes and tell her that she's the only girl you're currently seeing
Be tormented by the clips of dejavu when you realize you that you;ve said those words to me before.
I want you to know that it took a lot for me to actually believe you,
And to have you take that for granted is obscene.
So I've made up my mind:
No more tossing and turning trying to get sleep at night,
No more getting to close to a guy that they can almost smell the vulnerability in me.
No more sweet talks.
No more intimacy that I feel the temptation rising to give in.
No more being another soul ready for your hands to take advantage of.
No words that seem to good to be true that they aren't.
No more smiles and no more laughter will ever have to be seen.
To the boy I met two days ago,
I left out one thing that night:
I'm an artist.
And I've drawn an all-new perception of you now
The old one, wasn't honest enough
And now, neither is your love for me.

and he said to her with a vicious grin,
If you do not fight for what you want,
You should not cry For what you have lost.

"It ain't easy being green."
It ain't easy being the wrong
Type of guy to be.
But I laugh in the face of the
People who strive to take the love
Of self away from me.
I am multifaceted,
A harpist, poet, artist, a Christian.
An engineer, dancer, dreamer of fantastic,
Writer, fiction nerd, a fighting man.
A Black man, mixed with Irish and Cuban.
And I refuse to give up my beliefs,
I'm different, odd and flamboyant. Peculiarities I protect with tenacity.
No it ain't easy being green.
But better to strive being me.

My mind resembles something like
a rabid VCR—baring its teeth,
foaming, unapologetic, at the mouth,
rewinding and replaying and repeating
all of the small cuts of two people
I swear I used to know and love.
Rerunning a patchwork reel of the scenes
I can stand to remember—
(which is all of them when I’m feeling
particularly masochistic).
Rhythmic static travels from
top to bottom of my mind’s eye—
a familiar flaw, cracking and popping
as the picture struggles to come clear.
I try to stop it—all of it.
Rip plug from outlet—
throw this snarling archaic beast
against some unsuspecting wall.
But it’s made in the good ol’ US of A
and runs on something
a bit more complicated than
any energy they can send me a bill for.
So I'm stuck
in this cyclical hell,
where there is no fresh air,
and the only oxygen I can get
has to be ****** through
a barely functioning dollar store crazy straw.
And, really, my only anger is directed at Dante
for not including this part
in his little ditty about the Inferno.
I swear I’d take
trying and failing
to escape a river of boiling blood
over whatever it is that causes me
to create a dramatic VCR metaphor
any day.