whenever i go online shopping,
no matter if it's
high end, low end, or in between,
i would always sort the items
from low to high.
not only because it's a safe way to shop
and that it makes me look like
i take budgeting seriously,
but that's the only thing i can afford.

talk about me,
a high middle class kid that tries
DESPERATELY
to not spend so much on
the things he wants
rather than the things he needs
while still unemployed
and in college
as well as getting many allowances from his parents.
you are COMPLETELY allowed to say
that i am spoiled,
i understand and am aware of that.

as i scroll down and observe
the price tags slowly rising up,
$10, $15, $29.99, $49.99, $79.99,
until it hits $3,000,
i not only thought,
"how do you think that
it was a good idea to make that
simple, plain jacket
in such a high price?"
but i also had to admit that
i really did wanted that jacket
since i thought it looked cute.

the problem with that is:
most of the stuff i wish i have
in my wardrobe,
they would all usually be so expensive,
especially since most of the stuff
i want to have is from
high end streetwear brands.

i would see almost every celebrity
wear my future wardrobe,
all looking so confident,
trendy,
iconic,
stylish.

oh, how i wish to be like them, sometimes.
how i wish to be rich.
how i wish to not worry about saving money.
how i wish to just show off iconic outfits
from amazing high end brands.
how i wish to have what i always wanted.

i know i should be content
with what i have.
i mean there always will be
other solutions to wear something
inspired by designer clothes
i've dreamed to have.

but ****, would i look good in that
$3,000 jacket.

My sassy gay friend
Is not an accessory
When you go rooting through the closet and find him
Lacing straight ties into chains
Do not think that he will complete your outfit
Just because a rainbow holds the hues that you were looking for
Haven’t you seen that bruises also bloom in shades of purple and blue
Fading into green and yellow
With red far too often escaping veins that are supposed to hold it in
Haven’t you seen what marks us
And brings our identity to the surface of our skin
When closet doors are slammed too often against our hands
My sassy gay friend
Is not a decoration
You do not get to wear him at your hip
To flaunt your acceptance
And claim symbiosis
As if he needs you to navigate the streets of heteronormativity
Cutting short his words when communication is the best thing we have
And when speaking fails us we resort to spending an afternoon
Sending smoke signals into the sky
Waiting for security in the focus that it takes just to
Breathe
My sassy gay friend
Is not a collectible
You do not get to gather us up into a complete set
To line us neatly in an array
Of rarities and charities
And alternative identities
Until you feel sufficiently well rounded
In your attempted diversity
My sassy gay friend
Is not an icon
A token character
Or comic relief
My sassy gay friend
Is not meant to be romanticized
Idolized
Or fetishized
He is human
I am human
You are human
And if we see each other as sparkles and rhinestones
We're all going to lose all the value
That can't be found on price tags

This is just to say,
I drove to the cemetery and visited your grave today.

A tear rolled slowly down my cheek
And in my legs, I grew weak.

In the air, I felt the warm breeze,
And I knew that you were watching me kneel upon my knees.

The clouds rolled away and the sun kissed my face,
I was used to distance, but this was too much space.

I ask for forgiveness for being such a wreck,
As I touch the dog tags that now hang around my neck

There was no way that I could understand
Why I was left holding a folded triangle flag within my hand.

I cursed the war that brought ruin to my life,
I cursed the war for claiming my wife.

Take a look
At this decade's eternal light.
Youth, beauty, happiness.
In theory.
Is that how it was for our parents?

Top tags on this website
#depression #suicide #heartbreak
Are grandma's photo albums fairytales
Or has something changed

Without shame
Unmarked blame
Just a change

Perseverance died
At the doorstep of sarcastic self-deprecation,
Cool-to-be-lame facades,
Glorified depression, growing vines on glowing laptop walls
With a generation, fetal position, ripped jeans and eyeliner, inside

Self proclaimed ****
If you say it first
Those twisted lips of others
Won't press on such a fresh wound

And here we lose the metaphor

Cut yourself
So everyone else
Is picking at scabs

No one would hurt another
Who hurts themselves
Unless they're an ***
So the words are silenced
Are you stronger? Happier? Healthier?

And so we can always be safe
In our self loathing
Until puppy eyes and perfect pictures
Leave us hungry
Hurt by the people who don't mind being *****
Gaining assets, stealing rights from under
Our droopy dismal noses snapshot
Caption: **** up, let down, repeat. Hate me.
-politicians and companies will bash your head on rock bottom
Looking up in disbelief at chemical burns from Big Mac's
We'll look back down to pout about our pain.

The only way to save ourselves?
Perseverance
Positivity
Hope
Though I conveyed none of those emotions in this poem.
**** me.
I'm a hypocrite. But my point still stands.
Perhaps even stronger.

i want a good heart .
i want it to be made of good stuff .
i want the stain glass window builder to be my drinking buddy .
i want to drink only the punch of a million gender queer school kids taking free martial arts lessons to survive recess .
i stopped calling myself a pacifist when I heard gandhi told women they should not physically fight off their rapists .
i believe there is such a thing as a non violent fist .
i believe the earth is a woman muzzled , beaten , tied to the cold slinging tracks .
i believe the muzzled have every right to rip off the bible belt and take it to the patriarchy’s *** .
i know these words are going to get me in trouble .
it is never polite to throw back the tear gas .
just like its never polite to bring enough life rafts .
they crowd the balconies where the wealthy shine their jewels .
but sometimes love ..
sometimes real love
is ******* rude .
is interrupting a wedding mid vow just as the congregation is about to cry .
to stand up in your pew to say 
“ is everyone here clear on how diamonds are mined ?” 
hallelujah to every drag queen at stonewall who made weapons out of her stiletto shoes .
hallelujah to the blues keeping the neighborhood awake .
to the activist standing in the snow outside of the circus 
holding a ten foot photograph 
of a baby elephant in chains ,
when it’s probably some little kid’s birthday .
hallelujah to making everyone uncomfortable .
to the terrible manners of truth .
to refusing to clean the blood off the plate .
bend this spine into a bow 
i can pull across the cello of my speech .
love readies its heart’s teeth ,
chews through the etiquette leash .
takes down the cellphone tower after millions of people die in wars in the congo fighting for the minerals that make our cellphones . 
love blows up the dam .
chains itself to the redwood tree ,
to the capital building when a trailer of mexican immigrants are found dead on the south texas roadside .
love insists well intentioned white people officially stop calling themselves color blind .
insists hope lace it’s ******* boots 
always calls out the misogynist , racist , homophobic joke . 
refuses to be a welcome mat where hate wipes its feet .
love asks questions at the most inappropriate times .
overturns the defense of marriage act then walks a pride parade . asking when the plight of poor single mothers will ignite our hearts into action like that .
love is not polite .
deadlocks our rush hour traffic with a hundred stubborn screaming bikes .
hallelujah to every suffrage movement , hunger strike .
hallelujah to insisting they get your pronouns right .
hallelujah to tact never winning our spines .
to taking our power all the way back to that first glacier that had to learn how to swim .
to not turning our heads from a single ugly truth .
to knowing we live in a time when beauty recruits its models outside the doors of eating disorder clients .
that is not a metaphor .
this is not a line to a poem .
an indian farmer walks into a crowd of people and stab himself in his chest to protest 
the poisoning of his land .
a buddhist monk burns himself alive on the streets of saigon .
a united states' soldier hangs himself wearing his enemy’s dog tags around his holy neck .
may my heart be as heavy 
as a tuba in the front row of the mardi gras parade five months after katrina .
may it weigh the weight of the world 
so it might anchor the sun 
so it might hold me to my own light until i am willing to sweat as much as i cry .
until i am willing to press into the clay of our precious lives .
a window .
might our grace riot the walls down .
may the drought howl us awake
may we rush into the streets 
to do the work of opening each other’s eyes .
may our good hearts forever be 
too loud to let the neighbors sleep .

Another slimy page absorbed by gentle, tender hands
Another reality channel infected by impossibilities
Another grainy film shaded by green to hide the truth

All eyes are glued to these perfections
Simple utopias I can never be

Her hair, his eyes, their laugh, that smile

How disheartening it is
for my friends to say one word
when the tags on my clothing say another

A dent here, a scar there, a bulge elsewhere
hips too wide, skin too rough, hair too straight, eyes too red,
toes too small, nose too big, scar too dark, skin too light
My entire being is stitched together faults

So my eyes burn as yours shine
I guess it is yet another imperfection

But then again, are the blemishes even mine?