slam poetry
like the way the shore
struck the tide like a storm
stuck on something they couldn't
seem to form sentences about
because dreams are as fleeting
as yesterday's promises sinking
into excuses that transform into
nothingness consuming the ground
until your poem begins to fade into
the foam that recedes with the words
and the rhyme and the wit and the
prophecy of tomorrow
that began all of it.

You look at me,
salt stung eyes full of lies
you cannot bear to hear.

The rippling emotion of our love
has never had enough power
to break the barrier of their words
and your sapphire veins bleed into
more bodies of water than even the
most skilled scientist could ever discover.

Your body hovers above mine like
a moon lacking enough gravity
to bring in the tide and I wonder if
you can see the words written in
my mind like unsent love letters
sealed with the eternal promise of
a kiss that could never be properly executed,
even though we could have been-
because people didn't agree with our love,
still don't agree with our love,
and days like this,
sometimes you wonder if everyone ever will.

They see blasphemy in the beauty of our
fingers intertwined and speak hatred against
the connection we never thought we could find.

They put oceans between our instincts,
built dams around our feelings,
tore us down to nothing,
and called it religious necessity.

They have taken our love and
put it under a microscope,
held a gun against our heads,
and a knife across our throats.

We never called our love conventional,
but how the hell is this "unnatural?"
They are standing with armies against
our weaponless bodies and claiming to be
offended because I asked to hold my lover's hand.

They deny us our rights holding the book
of God in their hands, forgetting that not
everyone follows the scripture that not
even they can understand.
This God they speak of is not the God
I would like to know and even if He was,
I wouldn't be afraid to show the world
of my love  - just like they do with His.

I do not wish them a fraction of the curses
they have laid upon me and yet,
no one is asking them to put down the book they read.

Choosing my battles carefully
should be more of a metaphor
than it is a reality and I'm beginning
to question the possibilities-

No, I will not let them win.
I will not down to a God I don't believe in,
I will not sacrifice something beautiful
for the sake of your agreement -

**I will not allow them to pretend they are Him.

I found your eyelash on my pillowcase
I could use the wish

I don’t want to be here anymore
I will see you on the road
Things are best left unmade

Were all creatures.
Born of complicated kaleidoscopic shapes.
Why am I sorry for not realizing how complicated it is..
How complicated it is to be the exact form of another.
There is only understanding, and I understand you.
I want you.
The full effect.
The all in awe.

What kind of electricity is pulsing in these chords, these veins of mine?
And why do all of  these bulbs turn on at the same time?
I confuse myself.
Frustration sets.
Reflexes malfunction.
Meltdown.
A ******* mental meltdown.