"I'm scared to leave..
but I can't return
home."

I would have tried to stop you.
but would you have let me stop you?

This is all straight *******.

It was not a selfish act
kissing that semi,
and I accept that.

What I do not accept,
is that I feel I could have done
something.

You turned very quickly from a boy to a man.
Caring for your sisters, being a father figure.
Jenny wasn't there, wasn't the mother she needed to be.
And she still isn't.

Whose fault is it?

I NEED SOMEONE TO BLAME.

Taking your own life can't just be passed off.

I am so happy you are at peace,
but what I fear is what you left behind.

The littles are helpless,
trapped by her, this.

How do I help them escape?

Is there a way?

I can only imagine what pushed you to your limit.
I wish I could have told you I struggle with the same feelings.
I wonder, could it have stopped you?

Is it better you being dead?
…is that an inappropriate question to ask?

I miss you, brother.

i kind of want to die
but i know that there are no
gold-tipped sunrises
in the basement of the dead.
mostly i dream in colors
that aren't black and white
because my head is full of spectrum
a copy of a copy of a color.
the only thing that keeps
my eyelids from drooping
is words on the pages
of the endless stack of books
in the corner of my room.
sometimes i think that
each letter is a person
and their figures join together
to form large crowds
that fill the spacious voids
around me.
my friends spill out of my mouth
and move around in my brain,
they are words,
not lifeless
but constantly moving.

*(a.m.c.)

**** is not a bad word.
****** is no longer a burden.
Refuse to be ashamed of your anatomy.
We are beautiful and powerful womym.
The source of our power,
Is our *****.
That which we've been told to hide,
To protect,
Never to speak of.
That which we grow from,
And develop.
Where we bear children,
And shed our wombs by the moon.
That which we are made to fear;
To worry about;
To shave or not?
Does it smell?
Is it weird?
Does it look right?
From our beginning,
Our ***** are mysterious.
It is we who must reclaim them.
Gain control over them,
Learn to love,
Rather than shy away from.
****
****
Our ***** will be our saviours.

For our anniversary
you gave me a rope necklace
Then got angry when i started
chocking on
my
words.

there is someone thinking of you when it's late and can't sleep
someone that sees eternity in your glowing eyes but has trouble expressing it
there is someone that remembers every interaction
envisioning you from afar
grateful for your gifts and flaws
on this physical plane
there is someone lonely
with you in their dreams
wishing for the moment
to share their love
for the light you embody

I'm back,
aren't you glad to see me
write again
you know what this means
don't act silly
you know i am sad again
so here i am
have a cheer
tell me your glad i'm here.

i write poetry in fifty seconds or less
sometimes the words taste like salt
and sometimes like maraschino cherries

i wonder if my blood is red or if it's purple
because pain no longer feels like the color red,
it feels like numbness, cold unsaturated color.
red is diamond and fire and volcano
and it doesn't seem fair to call myself eruption.
it would be more accurate to say that i'm sand dune
and flood
and hurricane,
something that doesn't burn painfully
but slowly sinks into your skin
like water
until you breathe in what you thought was air,
but really it's not oxygen anymore,
it's me.

this one tasted like salt.

*(a.m.c.)

This regret,
This division.
Love's exit wound.
A fragmented heart —
Good but now damaged,
Weary.
Buckled under the weight
Of sweet intention.
Perfect vows.
Empty exhalations
In crystal air.
Beautiful in their impotence.
Hurried
last
gasps.
Needles in skin.
Pricking tenderly,
A gentle torment.
Like lips on skin.