i am so tired
but
everything that
exhausts me
keeps me
awake
at night

Benicio loved his mother, but she was deceiving and driven by her bad habits. His mother never acted like one. She never apologized, but told him to get over it. Blamed him when she couldn't fix.
Her eyed lit up when offered a beer mad because her kids would ask her not to drink. she'd do it in spite, thinking it was funny and cute. Now a grandma, Benicio thinks his mom; never wanted to grow up, and held a grudge because of her bad decisions. She saying one thing, but doing another. Never took responsibility, or accountability for her actions.
He didn't expect, or want much from his mom. Benicio would help with his siblings; while his mother continued to be self destructive. Being put in the middle of her arguments between her and his father. A failing couple that went the distance.

Today I left my skin hanging
On the closet door
Took out my skeleton
For a walk
Let it breath fresh air,
Touch the leafs that are
Hanging on low enough.

We sat underneath the shade
Sad and thinking,
Thinking and sad,
About things out of
Our control,
Unlike the branch
That sweeps the floor
When the wind takes it.

More like the shadow
That humbly holds tight
Unto my Feet.

Neither my bones
Or me understand it
Even if it’s a part of me,
A third of me.

Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath

Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.


Jan 6, 2013