She paused from our kiss
Took a breath.
And I opened my eyes.
I saw her,
Taking it all in as she held my face
She quivered.
I smiled,
That's when I knew
She was enough.

I was born on a Sunday.
My eyes change colors
depending on the weather.
I am 5' 2'' but feel like I am 5' 6".
I don't know how to do Calculus.
I am okay with that.

My first name means "one who listens".
I wish my middle name meant "one who speaks"
because my God, I am a wishing well
and people have the tendency to toss
their secrets into me. And their loss, their pain,
their anger, their sadness, their regret
it fills up a part of me that I thought was infinite.
I am on the constant verge of spilling over and
when I walk I feel like a garbage bag, dragged
against cement, one sidewalk scrape away
from coming undone. I am expected to keep
everyone's mess inside.

My friends tend give me **** for the amount of
time I can spend staring in the mirror.
The secret here isn't that I'm vain,
it's that approaching my reflection is like
ripping off a band-aid because looking
myself in the eye still makes my stomach flip.
60 pounds of weight lost does not
silence the echoes of words that
convinced me that life as a size zero
was the only life worth living and
I had been alive nine sizes too long.
I can't always remember that I am beautiful.

And I have this collection
of words that I should
have said. When I am alone,
I bring them out from
my closet and introduce
them to the ghosts of
people I have lost,
of the people I could not fix,
of the people I should forget
but can't forget because I
don't want to forget because
there's something about keeping
wounds open that feels better
than letting them heal—
I have always been one to pick at scabs.

This is my declaration of honesty—

My name is Sam.
I can't ride a bike
but I can write you a poem.
I am afraid of perpetually falling
in love with people who won't  love me back.
There is a man in a cell I live to forget.
I am convinced Heaven looks like Ireland
and that soul mates come in multiples.
My voice shakes when I say what I think.
and for once,
this poem isn't for you.

This is a poem for me.

In time, you will walk on

my fingers will become stars
my lips, branches
my heart, brittle moss
you will go away from me gently

and grow upon this loss

America
Land of the free
Home of the brave
but don’t forget the clinically insane
because they’re here too
Making different people black and blue
especially the ones of a different race
What is freedom if it comes with a price
the price of too many lives
lives cut short by the bitter bite of a bullet
piercing through years
resulting in more fears
causing more tears
tears of families
and friends
watching their loved ones life come to an end
thats not even the worst
no justice is being served
to those who got the last word
words shooting from a gun
words denied in court
inequity for those whose lives were cut short
people like Renisha McBride
feel like they now have to hide
from people like Theodore Wafer
who refused to be safer
lack of understanding that Renisha was hurt
and she wanted help
but you ended her life with a yelp
as she knocked on your door
she had no idea she wouldn’t live anymore
gun to her face
you sent a message out to her race
that she went to seek help in the wrong place
telling those like her they don’t belong
in the human race
sadly is isn’t the only case
Jordan Davis
who was not even on a first name basis
with
Michael Dunn
shot nine times
even though he had committed any crimes
nine
times
Trayvon Martin
whose life ended
at the end of a gun
in the hands of the one
who took the “law” onto himself
obvious patterns show
this was no accident
although
he was
acquitted
and he got his gun back
permitted
information was not told
omitted
Zimmerman got refitted
and Martin shot dead
because something was off in someone else’s head
sent to his dead bed
the truth never said
Zimmerman fled
and how are those like him
suppose to move ahead
guns hiding in every direction
ailing like an infections
running from their own reflection
and I have an objection
because this is not the act of natural selection
and it’s sad people of different color still need specialized
protection
because apparently
pulling out a wallet
justifies being shot
41 times
not
but it does for the NYPD officers
and for a South American immigrant
Amadou Diallo (Jallo)
only 23
died callow
shot by four men
so shallow
4 guns
19 hits
41 shots
Bang
dead
----
How can this country preach
that we not only have freedom
but freedom of speech
but as soon as Bruce opened his mouth
and let the truth come out
and talked about
the truth behind
41 shots
he was “un-American”
he was a “flying ***”
it’s sad
we treat other human beings
as animals
and we claim to be equal
but there are people here who are still evil
and law officers who are deceitful
and last I checked ******
is illegal
and you are allowing upheaval
A mother should not be afraid to sent her son
out to get groceries in fear
that he may never come back
So don’t tell me
America
is equal

When we first met, I was in hell
and you where my angel from heaven
but now, you've a broken halo,
(it’s crown upon your shattered mind).
You pulled me up as I pulled you down
(we met somewhere in the middle).
We fought side by side
together and against the world,
but then our world fell apart.
(I found you out, you lied)
You fought against me,
you betrayed me,
(you hurt me in ways you’ll never know).
I missed you, I needed you
(I loved you, I still do)
and just when I was accepting your absence
you came back. (but you forgot me)
You always come back.
(why do you always come back?)
We patched things up eventually (do you remember that?)
(not everything can be fixed by your makeshift stitches)
When we first met, I was in hell
and you where my angel from heaven
and now you have fallen.
(you're lost, graceless)
I need to find you,
because I still need you *(I still love you).