A poet in love
Is a match soaked
In gasoline.

-r0

They call me blood when I **** the silence
I got a pen on paper and a flow like violence
I am so ill, I think I have a virus.
I need to blow these spineless rappers out of my sinus

Then I ate a sexist for breakfast
and I got so sick I spit gay rights into texas.
Rest in peace to all my ex's
I've got em stacked like 20's
in the trunk of my lexus.

-r0

When I was nine a boy told me I looked like a ******* the playground. I cried and beat him until my knuckles turned white. At the time, anything like a girl was deserving of two things: disrespect and objectification. I write in the past-tense in the hope that this mentality is on its way out with corsets and Truck Nutz® .

The legalization of same-*** marriage has made it so that I'm given a [somewhat] equal level of rights to that of a heterosexual, and it created an air of safety on the streets in which saying things like “******” might now be on par with the word “******”. People might start to feel more socially obliged to say sorry to me for saying it-- but not because they actually are.

For that I'm grateful, but the integration of the homosexual identity in the media is being largely focused through the male lens, and that's a problem.

The 'coming out' sports stars and picket-fence gays in shows like Modern Family completely overshadow women-- in the same way that all aspects of our society do.

I still hear that insecure nine-year-old echoing in the byzantine recesses of my twenty-something brain, “you look like a girl” and I cringe. For society to make sense of my sexuality as a male attracted to other men, I was feminized and subsequently devalued. “If you like men, you must be like a girl” and conversely the same would be applied to a lesbian, “If you like women, you must be like a boy (but probably confused and you'll change your mind, because you're a woman)”.

The problem was, that at some point, I was expected to join the cheerleading squad or football team and play with Barbies or Army figurines. I was born into a gender straight-jacket that aimed to suffocate my expression as a male into singular shade of blue, and I'm rather fond of pink.

But everyone knows that pink is the weaker and more pathetic color.

The expectations of a woman to be barefoot preparing dinner for her drunk and abusive husband has been alleviated, but there is still a monster of an elephant lurking in the kitchen.

For a movement which parades a diverse banner of colors and proclaims acceptance, therein lies the patriarchal monster rearing its head once more. For example-- Grindr, the gay male social networking app that has been all the craze. Amidst the headless torsos looking for partnership among strangers (NSA ***), the unifying demand (literally almost every profile) is masculinity.

A demand that our partners appear more physically masculine as to avoid further social isolation.  A request which directly results from the hurt of being feminized as gay men; it's a request that represents the patriarchal society which ostracized us in the first place for “being like a girl” (and I cringe once more).

Flashback to some age between nine and twenty asking myself, “What's wrong with being a girl?” Well, I suppose we could go the biological route and say that they are in fact smaller and less capable of lifting heavy things. Then we could also look at college graduation rates of females over males and scale the weight of each genders brain and figure out which is superior. (Did you know women exceed males in college education?) They do, and since they're aren't many sabertooth tigers to club over the head anymore-- men should probably pick up the pace.

Then I realized-- there is absolutely nothing wrong with being a girl, feminine or gay. There's something wrong with being a man.

cold veins
beat red fists
through cracked walls
of hearts home

fingers caress and
shudder my skin
he whispers nails
on chalkboard

don't touch me.

bottles bottom
dissolving
coin tosses in
your stomach

she bore
my vegetative
eyes once
living

don't call me.

aggressive he
she depressive
bi polarize me
the perfect gender.

-r0

insidious newsfeed.
apathetic "like"  
(I guess they're getting married.)
assessing my worth
'friend' counts and Klout scores.
modify your post to be pleasant,
as to 'dislike' something
deems it unworthy of notice.

"Just got arrested, #lol-- free breakfast."
We are becoming a collective
of aging selfies and
isolated narcissists.

dissociative culture.
I am desensitized to my own
most precious moments
and have condensed their value
into how many people
care enough to click a button.

blending into the numbers
we are in the back seat of our own lives
and our weekly web-content
is drunk behind the wheel.

You don't need a machine
or the internet
to tell you
you're anything less
than beautiful
and a star,
inside and
out.

-r0

I like reading all of these poems by hopeless romantics.
Swallowing the objects of their affection.
I like it because I've already been digested and **** out by you.
You're so lovely.

-r0

1) Gasoline

“He had punched a mirror. We found him on the floor, sifting through the shards of his broken reflection to find the piece that nobody liked. He cut his hand in the process and we asked him to stop bleeding. He had always been difficult. We wrapped him in gauze, cut a hole out for his lips, and told him to smile.”



As a child my glasses were foggy. The sleeve of my sweater was always wet and my cheeks were flushed. In contrast everyone else seemed to have dry clothes and fair eyesight. I stuck out like a bad joke with no punchline. I was that feeling you get when you try to jam the wrong shape through one of those Fisher-Price toys-- it doesn't fit but you force it anyway. My mother left my sister and I when we were five years old, and my dad turned to the bottle. We lived in a small town. Early in school I was the slightly effeminate social-butterfly who only mingled with girls. I was at that age where behavior is instinctual and influenced by your parents-- so I was afraid. During gym class I would hide in the bathroom and cry once a teacher had found me. The boys would observe.“One of these things is not like the other.” In time I would learn to fit in, however, you can only hide things so well when you're young before they start to show. The boys would react...





2) The Match





“When you hold a knife to someones throat, make sure you use enough pressure to affirm your conviction, but not so much as to actually follow through. The trick is to only appear ruthless, as to be perceived as weak makes you a victim-- and victims get bullied.”



By my junior year of high-school I had been transferred in and out of five different schools. I was accustomed to the fact that by removing me from the equation no institution had to confront their homophobic underbellies. Years passed and I had been berated, jumped, or otherwise chased out of every school I attended. After awhile, any threatening gesture one could conjure in my direction was met with dead eyes. From the treachery that once burned me I had become my own inferno of cruelty and tricks. I was the bully-- the worst kind. I was astounded how responsive the world became to my needs once my tears turned into clenched fists. Of course, I was still the effeminate social-butterfly-- but I had clipped his wings. I learned that there is a bridge between self-expression and societal acceptance, and the raging current that divides it is ignorance. That the appearance of things are so often held in higher regard than their content. That the value of a person is measured in material and a body count. I took these lessons and manifested an image. The most disturbing part about my transformation is that I assimilated everything I despised-- and it made me grossly popular. I got myself into a lot of trouble over the years that would follow, but as I got older, I stopped getting arrested as often. A few adults had regularly guided me from harm, and by some chance and a lot of luck-- there had been just enough good influence in my life. I was stopped from being the criminal I was bent on becoming.



3) Ashes



“There are two types of dogs in the world-- laps and strays. One sleeks around in the rain wondering where his next meal is coming from in exchange for his authenticity. The other is kept on a very short leash for a bone a day. I ask myself, which dog am I?”  



One's youth doesn't really come to an end, rather, there comes a time when you're expected to leave it behind. In my age I think about this. Much like high-school, in adulthood we're expected to maintain some sort of image, fit in to the confines of society, and blend in. The same herd-mentality which drove me to deny my authenticity the first time, is once again asking me to sacrifice my truths. We have changed the scenery but not the situation. The world is a wasteland for the individual. It will leave you cut, bruised and isolated. But when you finally come across someone or someplace who has fought your fight, and accepts you for all that you are, it will have been worth it in the end. And the pathetic wings of that damaged butterfly still beat inside of me, struggling to escape, reminding me to never abandon that which we're being conditioned to forget.

-z0

not to be a downer
but I'm not blinded by the light
I'm not side-stepping feelings
I'm not looking for a fight

and not to be uptight
but god still hasn't grabbed me
in the middle of these sleepless nights
shaking my restless head saying
"you're going to be alright"

and not to be a pain
because we're having a good time
But I've driven every lane
and I've crossed every line

and not to be a bore
because we still need friends
but I hate to be adored
for playing pretend

look here, I'm happy now
everything is cool
smeared on smile
sittin by the pool

selfie. like.
grin from tongue to tooth
everyone's contrite
when no one knows the truth

-r0

Glasses thick
Brilliant mind
But not my pick
To bump and grind

Legs akimbo
Astute *****
But better a window
Than a door

Grade A student
Pass your tests
Keep tongue fluent
Off my *******

Red mark checked
Thesis compiled
You'll never wreck
Me *******

Quantum ****
Solve any issue
Keep your ****
In a tissue

Quick sharp thinker
Professor adored
But I can't finger
Your SAT scores

Six degrees
Pencil *****
Modern Curie
acne genus

-r0

When I wake in the morning
The emptiness of my room deafens me.
I rise from my bed,
And feet never touch the floor.
My stomach pangs
My head bangs,
And I float.

When I wake in the morning
I have thoughts of you
I fall back asleep
Pull up the sheets
And pretend that they were true.

When I wake in my madness
I wish I would eat.
For I am a fool  
And it is our sadness,
that makes us complete.

-r0

I need a statue that bleeds
and a diamond that cracks
a fluid solid
wants without needs
to be generally exact

I need you to stay
while you watch me leave
I need you to say
what I wouldn't believe

what I want is a contradiction
a fairy-tale non-fiction
rhythm, rhyme, diction
freezing from friction
a tamed addiction

-r0

i know you're bad...

but *******
******* your looks
my eyes are hooked
you should be booked
for aesthetic crime
so fine  

*******

handcuff my mind
the cities grime
your street-light sublime
my ball and chain
beauty profane.

*******

graffiti heart
in a shopping cart
you pick my pockets
street scam smart

*******

knife to my soul
tag my wall
pretty on parole
let's brawl

*******
*******.


-r0

follow the shallow skipped stone
you're off to see the blunder
the wonderful fury & cause

Branches black wound thick
Around the face of truth
Spin it till you're sick
Build it to the roof
Smoke it to ash
Burn it to hell
Trade it for cash
Cover the smell.

Ashes to gashes, Lust to Husk
You may have passion but not my trust.

-r0

Sharp yellow auras l i n e d in a row
divi ded  black by hazed perception
something the stars can't (show)
white markings lead me to a deception i know.

Distant windows warmly welcome in their shade
Worn doors dangerously dead-locked as they're made
My kin not kindled within walls nor has it been
More out next  to flames left  to our poison: a  living  sin.

Strut  Hard  Caution
Cement Shatters
fear
X

-r0

I weep for Narcissus,
but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful.
I weep because,
each time he knelt beside my banks,
I could see,
in the depths of his eyes,
my own beauty
reflected.

-r0

my heart is
an open field
of jagged rocks
and pits covered
in dry grass.

my heart is
a dense forest
to the south
and a river bank
to the east

my heart is
a landscape
alive with feral
animals and
gentle beasts.

my heart
pumps like a
purple sunset
in a hellish
Phoenix sky.

-r0

there is a place in my heart
where the engine runs and the starter stops
and the oil sputters black enough to avoid the cops

there's a place in my mind
where the memories wade
in the pool of the time that I would have strayed

where liquor pours and memories fade
there's a place in my **** where I would have stayed

There's a place in my toes where the empathy grows
and the root ruthlessly anchors me and slows

There's a place in my hands where I hold a knife
where I cut things out of me that **** my life.

I know of a part of me the doesn't show
It's the part of me that men like you will never know.

He held the key to what he wanted to see
destructive or creative was all he wanted to be
black and white infinitely greater then gray
iridescence had no place in a colorless day
The sky may remain blue
for you
but for him
a vein of red bled through
heaven rains blood for those excluded
but somehow his prayers intruded
arrays of life blinked back in existence
and his tragedies evaporated without resistance
now he sits reminiscing on the past
staring at a monolithic sea
of Christian trash.

-r0

Black roots are digging into the story.
The cover is mold and its pages are dirt.
It's growing into quite the beautiful lie.
Its branches are strong and cold, the trunk is hollow.
We gather around it and cry-- but nobody really cares.

Its blind limbs desperately reach toward nothing,
twisting itself into painful knots.
Ears to its base and knuckles to its bark,
Tap. Tap. Tap. -- Hollow.
Very hollow.

The type of hollow that comes
from years of being dead.
Alone amidst the cracked mud and brush.
We decided not to cut it down,
for there are fates
worse than death.

-r0

I think about meditation, positivity,
and breathing my worries away.

I think of opening the blinds
to see a monk on fire  
so I pick up a pen and write instead.

I think about the birds out my window
and feel the earth shake as they
fly for higher ground.

I think of students picking
one path to fly and die on
Then I think about the value of money
and what it's really worth

I think about comfort and security
then I think of a prison made of meridian sofas
and melted credit cards.

I think about getting wasted.

I think of social networking
dissociative isolation
and aging narcissism.

I think about the homeless man
and his house made of boxes
outside of NPR's building
"This American Life."

I think of turning up the noise
and smoking an 8th of ****.

I think about the magnitude of our universe.
  I think about *** and image.
I think about power and guns.
I think about how blind we’ve
allowed ourselves to be.

then I think of how I can condense these thoughts
into a single sentence so it holds
your
fleeting
attention
amidst
a
*******
newsfeed

I think about it
I do

That you should start to think too

neon flight I'm flying
feeling colors fingers
float through cotton
candy mist

stomach flutter eye
shutter carnival spinning
joy light glimmer
hazel summer sun

set in the west
I rise writhed
eyes met with
the dawn

rest lashes
back asleep
past so shallow
future so deep

breath held
count to ten
fantasy quelled
drown in sin

-r0

He sat at the dinner table looking up to the ceiling.

The sound of gunfire echoed down the stairs and reverberated through his massive house. A heavy body hit the floor in the room above. Dust rained from the ceiling and the chandelier swayed back and forth; the flames helplessly holding onto the wick as the chain rotated around the room. The calm, evenly-paced sound of high-heels approach him from behind. A woman helps herself to the seat on his right and sits motionlessly at the table.  

Silence falls over the dining hall as the slow sway of the chandelier eases to a halt, all of the candles still lit-- except for one. The woman brings a wine glass to her lips and tilts her head back, washing down what's left.
He looks on silently as he finishes his meal.

that truth injected a liquid coal that was
to pulse my veins forever.
pulled back the blinds
and shrouded me in darkness.
extinguished the flames
and charred the place
where I housed our dreams.

Cracking the concrete that lead to our door.

devoured the life
surrounding the perimeter.

engulfed me in a blackness
I won't soon forget.

misled by my own disillusions of who I wanted you to be.
the pages of this fairy tale are blank,
and would better make for kindling.

Rather start new,
or keep warm for that matter,
I chose to walk toward the lake alone.

feet bound by lies
I toss this to the cliffs,
broken with the others at the bottom.

misled by my own disillusion
of who I wanted you to be.

I weakened myself at the knees
and fell to my own imagination.

Dragons and princess,
I sword-struck myself silly.

these scars are not my own.
star-gaze reminiscence
we ALL fall down.

my faith is absent.

I lay the ghost of you down to sleep.
Kiss your forehead and destroy
the reflection of myself
I never wish to see again.
Shrouded, blank, Shrouded, blank.

Feet  bound  by  lies
you hung bleeding water
into a rapidly growing puddle.

I watch the sun set in our
tear stained canvas sky.

-r0

flickering screen
graveyards burn
into our eyes

upload your humanity
data exchange
our energy
away

age of knowledge
I never knew you
or myself.

gathered around
trash lit on fire
we burn
for no one.

-r0

roads fork and
twist at your feet
gyrating snakes inject
the threat of the future
into your veins.

stars collapse and
you wander to the edge
small punch drunk
alone.

busted clocks
leak insects
onto the face of the world
and your mind is a dollar sign

tick tock
tick tock

take my hand
lets leave this
neurotic neverland
follow the shallow skipped stone

we're off to see the blunder
the wonderful
fury and cause

if only you had a heart
if only you had a heart

-r0

s (o) c (i) e (t) a (l) |  m (e) (d) i (a) (s)
    |     |      |     |            |    |     |   |
o i t l e d a s
i s a o t e l d
i s o l t a e d

.i s o l a t e d.
| |||| || |

-r0

Steam rises from the coffee mug
Sunshine peaks over the mountains
Smoke begins to fill up my lungs
I exhale what will never last.

Bearing marks of heartache he comes
Branded by the thought of concern
Barb-wire scuffed belts meet our hips
I release all that's left of hope.

Fields of yellow surround the road
Flowers that once bloomed in the rain
Faith so young in red lips so warm
I leave your still blue eyes waiting.

Combing fingers through your course hair
Caressing toes in sheets heavy
C*old noses on one another
I don't want to fall in love again.

-z0

breaking ice
Stutter twice
formalities
roll the dice.

You saw me
I saw you
I want you to know
What I want you to

*** drugs
Rock and dull
Tell me something
Make a goal

Get your points
Impress me great
Fruit of *****
My face you rate

Break the ice
See my soul
Stutter twice
Burn like coal.

-r0

"there's a darkness about you"
my grandmother said.
I reached into my heart
it was weighted with lead.

"I guess she's right"
I thought in my head
I stay up all night
I talk to the dead.

"I care too much"
I thought to myself.
sadness the crutch
when there is no one else.

"Set it on fire"
she said to see
life is a liar
that's blind to me.

-r0

I know
that you got into a relationship
with a guy who only married you
for your money
and your huge ****.

I know
that you're branching out of the dead gardens
of your relationship
to sew seeds in my field,
and they keep dying.

I know
that you know how I feel about about it all
and you know that I think you're a great guy.
I am not the liver transplant
for this liqueur-derailed
dance you're doing.

We're all sorry.

Your victimhood
is a virulent strain
infecting everyone
but
me.

-r0