She looks in the mirror
At the age on her face
"I wonder what he thinks
of me this way?"

She considers her weight
and the pores on her skin
She thinks out loud
"I don't deserve him."

She picks apart
the woman he loves
Separating her worth
from all that she does
              
He looks in her eyes
and caresses her face
He sees it glowing with love
and full of grace

 The lines on her face
  he views with pride
  Recounting the victories
  each time they've been tried

The weight that she carries
 is that of a mom
 Nothing's too heavy
 She just marches on

These bodies will perish
 and mirrors offer no truth
True love abides
 beyond the corridors of youth

  No, she doesn't deserve me
  Perhaps God can see
  Conceivably, one day
  I'll be as worthy as she

I'm not in the mood to write a poem
I'd rather look at you, I'd rather read you
Your body is poetry!* I can't challenge that
I'd rather not break my darling gaze
You are the most beautiful poem yourself

A cigarette after ***
  gets old
when it's the only thing
  burning
in your world.

When Netflix feels like
  family,
you wonder where
  everyone went.

******* feels like
  a cry for help--
So help you God.

Missing your home
  is second
to missing who
  you once were.

Eastern philosophy,
Karl Marx, Rawls--
We don't know
  any ******* thing,
really.

Pretending to be more.
Pretending to be smarter
than we really are.

May holes in our sides
let others see
that we're beating, too--
just not as ferociously
or as honestly.

May we vanish
into the darkness
that best suits us.

If the light is our night,
may we follow it.
Follow it...
Follow it...
Rebel from our frame.

May God grant us
to be more
than losers.

She kissed me
not because
she wanted to
but because
she could.

We fell in
love.
Not because
we could
but because
we wanted to.

We made
mistakes.
Not because
we wanted to
but because
we could.

We thought
we were
perfect.
Not because
we could
but because
we wanted to.

I vomited in
the bathroom
of a
Baltimore
7-11
because
sometimes
you cannot
hold it in
much
longer.

Her hands shook
as she held her
mirror
because
sometimes
your reflection
can only
tell you
so much.

My body shook.
Her body stiff.
And when
the bodies
move
the hearts
stop.

She lied some.
I drank words.
The veins
in hands
are maps
to imagined
consciousness.

Really,
it's just
a
*******
*****.

Music to
my ears.
Nervousness
between
blinks.
Noise to
my brain.

She said,
"I love you"
not because
she wanted to
but because
she could.

I said,
"I love you, too,"
not because
I could
but because
I wanted to.

Why did people tell me,
every time that I was sad,
that there were always men for me,
it only made me mad.

Did they really believe that?
Or were they just being nice?
'cos many times I looked around,
but they were cold as ice.

Now every time I look at you,
it truly makes sense why.
It wasn't that they were too cold,
it was that they weren't  my guy.