Tall, skinny, dark skin tanned by the sun
a football t-shirt with his school logo
the same high school I graduated from
walking ten feet in front of his mother
head down, nose in his smartphone
he slows his pace and meets up with her
in the Halloween section
I hear her ask,
"What are you going to do for red ribbon week?"
to which he rose his head for two seconds to reply with annoyed snarkiness,
"I don't know but I'm not wearing anything on my face.."
off he goes
nose in his phone
and suddenly my heart wrenched for her
for him
for that tone and the way he is missing out on this time with his Mom even though it seems so mundane to a teenage boy to grocery shop with his Mother
the saying is true
you won't appreciate your parents until it's too late and you're already grown and out of the house
I felt for myself
I'm having a son
and all I could think was
'what if one day that's me, watching my teenage son ignore me on his smartphone I pay way too much for so he can get on Facebook and waste his thoughts on brainwashing Internet trends, not caring to really talk to me anymore, or even care if I exist'

is it selfish to hope that my son
turns out more like me
to hope he cares more about things
like the lunar eclipse or the lifetime of a tree over the next level on a video game?

to see the world through a wider set of eyes
and to know there is much more to life than the day to day routines
that nature matters
and so does recycling and knowledge of plants

reading should still be done out of books
and learning to write in cursive still matters
I hope he sees the beauty in the stars
and how small but important we are in the vast universe we get to be apart of
how what we do here on earth
effects our solar system

when he gets older I hope he realizes
other people's feelings around him
how the things he says and does truly effect someone else
I hope he cares about his health
that he dosent smoke and dosent drink too much
is conciencious of his eating choices
and goes for an apple over chips
I hope he sees he only has one life
and that he sets out to make the most of it

I hope he is never too ******* himself
because he realizes no one is perfect
and that he takes the time to
take care of himself
I hope he wants to live in this world over the makeshift realities brainwashing todays Youth through TV and games
I hope he questions who he is
and who he wants to be even in the good times not just the bad

I hope when the next lunar eclipse comes around
he will want to watch it with his Mom
because he knows how much she adores both the moon and her son

the doctor scratched notes with his pencil describing our heartbeats
our veins spread through our bodies in little lines
our bodies were a blank manuscript of life
pages of measurements
Mother's ******
Mother's stomach

still in the process of being written,
our DNA and chromosomes silently orchestrated themselves as we awaited our own arrival
suspended in profound silence as we rested,
counting down to the moment when we
would
break
the sound barrier



(ii.) silence
the doctor will scratch notes with his pencil describing our last heartbeats
wrinkles will be spread across our bodies in little lines
our skin a dead manuscript of beauty that once was and music that will never be heard again

so many
pages
with no blank spaces
detailing
what time
how
where

we will make no sound
our ultimate beat of breath (final word) is naught but a distant memory
suspended in the minds of our loved ones
as our internal metronome is laid to rest

Better that every fiber crack
and fury make head,
blood drenching vivid
couch, carpet, floor
and the snake-figured almanac
vouching you are
a million green counties from here,

than to sit mute, twitching so
under prickling stars,
with stare, with curse
blackening the time
goodbyes were said, trains let go,
and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from
my one kingdom.

this is a poem about how you sleep,
how your body grew cold like a corpse in a mortuary.
how it felt wrong to reach out and touch you.
did you know that you turned away from me
every time i tried to face you?
did you do it on purpose?
maybe you were afraid i would be able to see
you were dreaming of her,
that i would read it on your face.
lines by your mouth like obituary,
like roadmap, her bedroom,
the destination, mine, a pitstop.
loving you was like attending a funeral service for myself
and sitting in the front row. no.
loving you was like watching you pick out a casket
and call it practice. ****.
i know how sensitive you are about death.
i know it still hurts.
i know how everything hurts.
i am sorry for just being another thing that hurts.
i think i'm afraid to let you forget that you used to want me.
like if i can somehow dig deep enough,
wound you into remembering me.
i keep weapons-grade nostalgia in my back pocket
for the days i can feel myself slipping from your consciousness.  
i was born with scar tissue where skin should've been.
but this isn't about me.
this is about the way you sleep
like you're waiting for someone to close the lid,
cover you in dirt, and read a psalm.
this is about the way i tried to sing your pieces back together,
and the way my voice gives out
when i read the things you write for anyone other than me.
lover, friend, stranger,
i just wanted to show you how to love your darker parts.
i never meant to become one.
i am so ******* selfish.
but i swear i am trying to unlearn the steps.
and you used to think my two left feet were charming.
i am out of time in more ways than one.
i keep stepping on your toes.
i can't seem to stop tripping you up,
hoping that you'll fall back into whatever this was.

- m.f.

There are women against feminism
And I really don't get that
Feminism is about equal rights for men and women
And without that
I would spend my life suffering through the remark
"Get back to the kitchen"
Because it wouldn't be my place to deny that
And little girls would grow up
With their purpose in life to be
To look pretty
And have children
Without feminists
I would grow up and never get the chance to vote
Without feminism
It wouldn't matter if I had an education
As long as I looked good enough to get a husband
Isn't there something wrong with that
And feminism is around today
Because some men still look at women as objects
Because women can't dress nice
Without a male seeing it as an invitation
Because women who have *** are *****
But guys who have *** are praised
Because women get paid less than men
Feminism still exists because so does inequality
And men don't think I'm blaming you
I'm blaming the society
That uses a woman's body to sell anything from burgers
To perfumes
I'm blaming the society
That constantly photoshops women
I'm blaming the society
That blames the victim
I'm blaming the society  
That makes women believe feminism is wrong

sometimes i wonder if god keeps a record
of all the times i have been left,
all the times i have been unable to leave.
i wonder if he thinks to himself,
"when will she learn?"
as if he feels my heartache too.
i picture god with a furrowed brow,
hunched over a typewriter,
beginning me again and again,
a mountain of crumpled paper at his feet.
but somehow -
he always ends up at the same point in the story
where i am all ****** palms
and half-hearted hallelujahs
propped up on bruised knees.
spitting up blood & teeth at his feet screaming,
"IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?"
but he doesn't answer.
and i catch myself wondering if the silence
is his way of punishing me for making a deity out of you.
after all, the bible says he is a jealous god.
i could've sworn there was a verse somewhere
that said you weren't allowed to love anyone other than me.
but now that i think about it,
i probably took it out of context.
if i could add a parable to those already existing,
it would be how your chest
felt like church under my head,
and how i thought to myself,
"this is how it would be if he loved me back."
or how you fled my bedroom like a crime scene.
i am still bleeding.
i won't tell you how many times
i cracked my heart in half
trying to be what you wanted.
how my lips on your skin felt judas.
now i am waiting for god to begin me once more,
hoping he'll leave you out of the plot this time
because i don't think i could stand to lose you again.
see, rumor has it he knew you'd leave
and has been trying to make it up to me
since before we'd even met.
my song is one of repentance.
the wood finish from abandoned pews
rotting under my fingernails.
i made sacrifices you didn't ask for.
i have never known
whether my inability to abandon people
is more a strength or a weakness
but so far everyone i've ever loved
has turned into an exit wound,
and myself into a flickering no vacancy sign.

- m.f.

You ever have those days when you'd rather take the long way home?
With headphones on
Ignoring your heart beat
Trying not to crack like promises and iphone screens...
Well honestly,
You ripped the spine off of my notebook paper skeleton and crumpled it into the shape of your fists until it was nothing but a broken haiku:

What is love without
Lighting matches in the dark
Drenched in gasoline

You wear the whites of your eyes like flags when we touch
Like giving up is an option
And I'm trying to rewind the cassette tape memories to the beginning when smiles decorated our faces and I didn't know your full name or that you love orange juice and comic books
We're just kids in love with following fault lines to their breaking points and drawing assumptions on sidewalks while it rains. Raised on etch a sketch commitments that fade when shaken
We have no connection to the word 'stay'
**** the Christmas lights in your eyes, they don't stay up all year like I had hoped and I wore red lipstick to stop myself from kissing you and you stopped gelling your hair back like permission for me to massage your aching head, knead out any leftover thoughts of 'slow down'
But that was centuries ago and by centuries I mean lifetimes ago and maybe our souls have agreed to meet in some silent studio where you paint me abstract on subservient canvases and you'd feel like Salvador Dali as you melt clocks on my wrist to leave our moments up for interpretation...
We will not touch again, we had our last hug and the bass of our pulse has weakened so the memories don't keep us up at night
They have become elevator music in the back of our minds because we don't want to forget the sound of 'I love you'
Like astronomers falling in love with a blank sky, darling, it's in our nature to chase after the stars that chase after the moon that chases after the sun that chases after the world that chases after this idea of love.
Lets fold our empty spaces into intricate origami haikus like...

We ran out of glue
Stationary paper cranes
We burn down in flames