burnt mouth taste
aching chest
legs tights and cramped

heavy head, not to be held up any longer
by the strings I have cut throughout my day

i want to be free from them
I want to hold myself up


but i always wait
wait for your strings
to be tied around my wrists

please tie my soul to my body

I fear it will fall away
and I will lose myself in the sadness I felt before I met you

and I will go back to being the sad person i was

you remember.
I used to write those sad poems

now my poems are only sad when you feel far away

when I get the opportunity
   I dig you out of the ground
like gold
      I dig my fingers into
your crevices, spreading your
   skin across my palms

I once told you that you are like ice cream.
I want you to know that you're not just ice cream.
You are like sunshine, or air.
You are like cilantro, or laughter.
You are the water I want to dip my toes into,
a crisp clear lake


in which I see my reflection

If more people lived life, modeled after you
If more people lived freely
If more people expressed themselves
Without fear
   Without that crushing concept of conformity
   This world would be a better place
        A place I could be proud to be a part of
If more people took the time to open their eyes
        And break apart those hoary curtains
Of societal expectations
That smother us in their weight
And choke us in their clouds of accumulated dust
This world would be a better place
You bring so much to this world
Each
                                            moment
     you share
     with us

I want to be a place
   a safe haven
                    for you

a place
                 where you are warm

       I want to be a home,
          consistent
                               sturdy
                                              dependable
I want to be your bed


         you can come here

   strip off the clothes of the day

            sleep
                  as peaceful as
           a sunset lake

                   in me.

he can't build you the world
                       no purpose
                                    or magic mirror
                    show me the truth
                                       !
                              a feeling
                           a bigger boat?
                                go ahead
here's looking at you
                    and me
                          together

You stand up there
with the most gorgeous curly black hair
you look out into the darkness,
the light shining on you
                                  and out of you.

I can hear your heart pounding from across the stage.

the world stops.
I stop.

           I can’t breathe.
I feel like I’m in a dream.
I look at you, you gorgeous thing.
                              and I feel you.
and I’m not used to feeling things.

And then,
               and then,
                               you open your mouth
                                                    to speak

you speak.
You speak with eloquence
you speak with passion.
you speak with a voice like velvet.

you speak
and the words chosen,
so carefully put together,
wrap around my throat

choke me

Slavery.
****.
******.
Prison.
*******.

All with a forked tongue.

Without thinking
I sink in my chair.

It will not be until later, when I am riding home in my car,
listening to the radio with the windows down,

that I realize
I am ashamed to be white.

I hate it.
I hate it that you woke up one morning angry
at people like me.

White, symbolically representing innocence
but you know **** well that we are ******* guilty
of everything.

White, symbolically representing purity
but our past is as ***** as the floor underneath the rug,
where we have swept all of our genocide and pain.

I hate it.
I hate them.

I can’t seem to understand how,
with this privilege that I was given at birth,
that I am more likely to be America’s standard of “successful”
although you are obviously more talented.

I can’t seem to understand how
White Middle Class
is better than
black gorgeous badass.

It’s ******* criminal.
I want to tear my hair out.
I want to **** the men
that have hurt you and your family.
I want to cry.

but instead,
(weak as I am)

I sit in my seat,
listening to your voice.
It causes me to shake.

I hate it.

The words etched into your black skin
Mean so much more to me
because they were cut and burned into you
with White words
White knives
White cigarettes
White privilege.

Like mine.

I hate it.

But, I have no way to escape it

Like you are unable to escape the pain
the pain that people like me
people with skin like mine
have inflicted upon you.

So, I sit there
like a naughty child

and I think about what I have done