I searched for the words to say to you
in the floorboards that creaked and groaned
whenever the ghost of you would linger around my mind

In the same places I find you
as I stray into opposite corners of your room
to find something else in you
that should give me a reason to stay

Seduction isn’t wise in you
while I'm catching your eyes wandering
around the stumbling crowd
looking for something else to touch

I need to think about you with somebody else
so I can dance alone
and be okay with that

though you never wanted to dance with me anyway

I found you in the embers
of a burning fire
because I was stupid enough
to follow the trail of smoke
out against a yellow sky,
right into the thunderous wrath of you.

I should've just left you there—
in the trenches of the universe
where nothing is worthy enough of anything;
In the pit of the fallen feathers
picked from a murdered Angel’s gracious wings.

Like the wicked thief you are
you abandoned me
as you tied a splintered rope to my foot,
knotted it into the bottom of the earth,
and flew your way to the top
with the shattered pieces of my heart
that you lost in yours.

Vicious and ****** you were,
though I was trying to hammer you a shield.
Bruised and battered you left me,
though all I gave you was an outlet to the Epicurean Philosophy.

Rugged claws is all that’s left of me
and a silence so loud in it’s wake
I can’t hear myself think.
I haven’t spoken a real word
since you touched me,
So I listen to the rain pour
down in it’s muttering rhythms
at the bottom of the ocean
while the chest beneath
the heart you split open
caves in.

At some point
you just pull off the Band-Aid
and it hurts
but, then it's over and you're relieved
and you can see the wounds
for what they really are
and face the truth
that you're already healing.

*E.A.D

Take her down to the city streets
And she'll follow the trail of leaves
Down to the trees,
Where she'll climb the branches until
She reaches the sky.

She'll jump onto the clouds  
and lay there until she splits into pieces
and rains down onto the towns
Where she's dreamt
Of sleeping.

You'll remember her down
By the rivers where the evergreens
Meet a golden sky
Because she told you to live in color.

And on the bridges where the cities meet
These rustic roads
You'll hear her whispers between the iron bars
Like magnets to a needle on a compass
And be confused on which way is home.

You'll follow the footsteps in the snow
To a door that's frozen shut,
And remember that her hands were always cold
When yours were always warm.


You had a heart when she did not.
Your pulses drove her home,
Where she hadn't been in quite sometime.

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

I wasn't a crayon
or a pen
or a marker
or a highlighter
or whatever it was you used me for
to fill in your empty spaces.

I wasn't your therapist
even though I'm studying to be one
even though I've always wanted to be one
even though everyone else used me as one
but you were supposed to be different-
even said you would be.

I wasn't mendable.
I'm no puppet
I'm no object of manipulation
I'm no tool for your satisfaction
yet you assumed I was palpable
and your hands were everywhere.

I'm human
not a product of your imagination.
I'm my own color,
my own healer.

I am myself,
the self in which you never knew.

The self that ran away from you.