don't be alone
we have all fallen
through the broken bridge's cracks

don't be alone
the worth of our souls
is equal

don't be alone
we are spiritual siblings
sharing this nest of ripped up newspapers

don't be alone
we are all mice
in the shed of god

i used to think
that in order to think
i would have to stop
believing

i used to think
that in order to believe
i would have to stop
being

but really
i just needed
to let myself be
honest and loved

god would rather
have a you
that fails
than no you
at all
so i

like jasmine's comment
on facebook, when you can't
have hope, hold on to the hope
others hold for you

like desmond tutu
says, you know?
god says to you,
i don't have
anybody else!
except you!

god would rather
have a you
that fails
so i

there is a
time:

to be
blessed

and be
cursed

'best friday
ever,'

because:

look
around

we all
need
saving

my mouth is full of silence
it runs down my neck
and hides inside my shirt

i walk the ruins and find my words
tied to train tracks, try though
i might i cannot free them

the city drags me to the river’s edge
i want to weave a raft of words
but my mouth is full of silence

the city too is full of silence
choking suits and skyscrapers
only words are sharp enough scalpels

for the tracheotomy but the world is full
of silence and my mouth is full
of silence until you

open yours
and say

mine, too

i'm 9 in nairobi
playing foosball with a masai man
whose lip and earlobe
(both well-stretched)
bounce against his face,
he hangs lip over nose,
ears over ears,
we play on

funny, those kinds of scars
began with young women,
east african, who
fearing ****
and kidnap
from the north,
cut holes
in lip, in earlobe,
lifted skin of stomach
to slice smooth turtleshell shapes,
rubbed camel dung in wounds for better

scars,
which meant:
resistance, meant:
freedom, meant:
don't take me away,
don't steal my life.
funny
those scars
mean beauty now.
funny, these scars
on my wrist, funny how
much i love life now.
funny scars