The last time I ever saw you
We were sitting on the living room couch
You had a Taylor Swift album in your hand and
you were telling me how much you liked her music
A strange thing for me to remember, maybe,
but I do.

I wanted to dedicate that song to you but
I didn't know how to without spilling my vulnerability
Back then, before I knew it was an okay thing to do,
to be vulnerable, that is.

You've been gone almost six years, maybe seven
Less than a decade but a third of my life
I've spent the last trying to keep your memory alive in
my head, I never wrote you down on paper and
maybe I should have.

I ask for stories about you like pieces of candy,
a child begging on special occasion for a moment of sweetness
I want to know all of it, the good, the bad,
you lived a life that I am still trying to learn
fully.

You were supposed to see me that night
I didn't cry at your funeral
Nobody taught me that keeping it all tucked in
isn't a skill to be proud of it, but oh,
I was good at it.

I think about the huskies, the two of them,
how they kept you alive in a way
I'm getting one inked in a few weeks,
a portrait of your favorite kind of beauty
I think the artist can do it justice,
hopefully.

Uncle, we called you, followed by toy
You were more entertainment than authority and
we loved that more than anything
Uncle, I don't call you uncle anymore
I don't know if those titles can be used in past tense,
it feels weird so
I only say your first name.

I have so little to remember you by
Mostly stories and dinner parties and memories of
all of us jumping on the couch together
Uncle, you were, but child, still
Searching, searching,
lost always.

I am looking for a way to recall what I cannot
Uncle,
I hope you're proud of me.
Uncle,
All I have is this similar blood and the
memory of snow falling on that february day,
my boots making prints in your name,
Uncle,
A strange thing for me to remember, maybe,
but I do.

I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

come home.

***** depression, I've a confession to make
I was in a recession, now there's a rap session to take
Homeland protection, rhymes are fashion, none's the same
Infectious infection, it needs your attention as well as the fame
What I'm doing is passive aggression, don't bother with oppression
This is just my obsession, a crime, or rather a transgression

I doubt you know what half of those words meant
Here's a tip, that was me laughing at those curses you sent
I'm Batman, you're the Two-Faced Harvey Dent
Pay your rent, repent while I continue my ascent
Towards the top of the world, 100%, my content you resent
To a certain extent, this was made with a caustic intent.

These are my lines, so don't bother trying to reinvent.

i may have never been good enough for you,
but i sure as hell will be good enough for myself.
never again will i let anyone eradicate my self confidence
right before my very eyes
and never again will i succumb to trying to living up to anyone's standards besides my own.
especially to that of a boy.
i can't make your body ache to intertwine with mine,
neither can i be your muse,
and neither can i make your heart go into cut time every time i'm near.
but the good thing is,
it doesn't matter.
you can't force pieces that don't fit
and you just can't force feelings that aren't there.

“boris…boris”
you called out on the
verge of throwing up,
glasses smudged and
a nasty headache, you
wondered about what had
happened last night.

your lips tasted of rust
and copper, worthless
pennies without a cause.
your shirt tucked inside out,
you stumbled as you tried to stand up.

he puts a finger to your lips reassuring
you that everything was fine, as
he slipped out the back door, leaving
you alone in an air conditioned hum.

he was the only person you
entrusted, yet you didn’t have a clue.
your golden friend was long gone
from your mind, but there were still
faint glimpses of that old, familiar
world of saturday outings and vinyl
records scattered across the room.