They taught me to swim the same way they taught me to ride a bike.
lets see what happens when we push her down a hill, will she balance or bite through her lip?

They locked me in the closet, a suitcase, the trunk of our Toyota Corolla and a cardboard box all because I fit ;)

I walked through her room while she studied for her Calculus Final because it was the only way to get to my room (over and over for attention).

They held me down 3 at a time to play piano on my tummy while I shreked for pure joy and fun.

He gave me a boxing name on our trampoline and let me win. I ate his chocolate in her bed. They thought I was a cat licking itself under the covers.

When he came off the streets he gave me video games, Spyro, Pokemon, Zelda, and Sonic At first I didn't know we were related.

She chased me and my best friend around the house Screaming
     Squeeze my buns of steal baby
     he never came back.

They held me upstairs while things flew and crashed downstairs forever breaking the lemon squeezer. I cried and he held me, my first memory of him being nice.

She had me live with her 5 days a week 6 years because our parents didn't want to deal, even though she was bulimic. She took care of me but in truth I kept her alive.



They were my first memory, they were there for me, when I was little they were my parents. I jokingly tell people that all my good traits were learned from them.

When they left there was no one left to protect me. All alone, too young to understand them being gone was what made me sad. I was used to having 8 parents and now I have the two that actually gave birth to me.

Haha I say you only have 2. I gave up on them long ago, why would I pick 2 when I have 8?

Forever the 8 of us.

Four black matchstick legs
with white strike tips
large belly and a strong black haired back

Gunk in his eyes and
behind the top of his long ears
he leans into delight

strong torse against leg
behind swaying in the breeze
belly rubs and dominance

the possessively agressive- toilet paper connoisseur
arthritis in his back right leg
I the nightly electronic chair lift
squatter on grass green blanket

I was away when it got worse
no acclimation
full on hell storm

ten years ago...
second grade he pooped in the hallways

he's grown out of the escapist gene
looking back now with our loving eyes
my best friend and brother
Spyro: My Brother Dog.

I am from willow trees and Black Eyed Susan's
From pealed wallpaper bedroom walls and Barbie Dolls
I am from small night lights and late night terrors
From Shepard's Pie and yellow American Cheese
I am from the Victorian grey and half green painted house on a four cornered road.
From T.V. tag with my brothers and cousins.
From Veronica, my only day care friend.
I am from Disney movies and The Wiggles.
From The Game Of Life and Spyro
From baby sized microwaved pizzas and slumber parties at Grandmas
I am from my Grandmother silver roster hair
Her eagerness to make everyone happy, and her thoughtfulness.
From field hockey games and fudgesicle’s
I’m from every possible place in my dreams and reality.
From not knowing what will come next.

me being part of a poetry contest was a scam
lol
every time I touch my own face I think of cutting parts of it off with one of those electric pumpkin carvers
lol
i imagined dying from taking 20 diet pills
lol
I imagined I would call someone on the phone and announce to them that I’m dying
lol
I will never publish a book
lol
I might even die before I’m like, 17
lol
my dad never remembers how old I am but that’s ok I don’t know how old he is either
lol
probably like, 47 or something
lol
this isn’t as funny as i thought it would be
lol
when I was 6 I accidentally broke my uncles rake and I felt bad for years even though it wasn’t a great rake probably like 8 dollars
lol
i don’t think my parents are a great couple but whatever
lol
there’s a whole bunch of scratches on my thigh
lol
I feel I’m a poor excuse for a human
lol
I have all the spyro games but I only have beat 4 of them
lol
I tried throwing a paper in the recycling bin about 3 feet from my desk and I missed
lol

Listening to Dave Grusin,
"Mountain Dance," vintage 1979.
The thought strikes:
"Why is it that only the
Early Jazz Giants are deified?
Of course, we need Chet Baker and
Miles Davis in our pantheon, &
Gerry Mulligan & Charlie Parker
Not to mention (cue Soupy Sales:
"Smack. I told you not to mention that!")
Coltrane or Stan Getz.
And yet, we're all getting long teeth and
there's a lot more Smooth Jazz to come,
Post-1950s, take Grusin, for example, or
George Benson or Herbie Hancock, and
What about Earl Klugh & Larry Carlton?
Let's not forget Spyro Gira &
The Daves: Benoit and Koz.
And we would be remiss
To miss Chris, young Chris,
Chris - "The Whippersnapper" - Botti.
But I digress.

I’m not sorry we were in love,
and I’m not sorry we broke up,
but I am sorry we couldn’t stay friends.
There isn’t a mind with only happy memories,
but I find myself living in those the most.

at least now.

It took me some time to get over the anger,
and the sadness.

But now all I think about is Mac n’ cheese at 2 am.
Hockey nights, freezing my *** off so you’d feel alive.
The first time I thought,  I love this woman, while you cried in my arms.
The first time I said “I love you, my dear.” sitting across the bed from you.
Making fun of the stupid people on the bus and their “it’s called two-s-day because it is the second day of the week.”
Watching you stay upright for an entire run down the bunny hill.
Waking up in the morning to the cracking of your back,
Going to bed with your toes bundled up in socks.
Kissing your forehead, because I loved all of you, even the parts you didn’t like.
Taking your rings off just to pretend that someday I’d put a different one on.
Meeting your mom and realizing that you are the same person only 20 years younger and 30 pounds lighter
Watching the sun turn your green eyes blue, then blue to green, then green to grey.
Drinking that god awful mix you thought was *** and coke.
Showing you what an actual *** and coke should taste like, and laughing when you said “Too sweet.”
The nights you’d lure me from the controller to bed with a lack of underclothes.
The mornings I’d ease the tension the night built in your back.
Feeling you quiver and gasp for air as you reached ecstacy with me.
The first time we reached it simultaneously… while watching hockey.
Hearing you say something in a kid voice when you were being cute.
The first time you kissed me, instead of waiting for my lips.
Always feeling super lazy when you had papers for class written a week out and I hadn’t even started on.
The way you held me after the cave broke me.
The way you held me when I saw you for the first time in months.
Snowball the bunny, and his ***** stuffed ears, I’m sure he’ll hate me forever.
Watching you struggle through Spyro the Dragon and not saying anything cause you hated people to tell you what to do.
The last time we snuck out to make love holding you in my arms.
The smell of your hair against my face…
I’ll always miss those moments my entire life,
I just hope you’ll miss me too.

Verse 1:
Spending a million days chilling like a baller, but I’m still a bachelor,
I’m the master *****, the funk villian,
Killing these ill feelings, like a *******.
Call me Captain Picard, galaxy speeding.
Bumping to tunes, in my Lincoln Navigator.
Living fate with taro cards, ***** bussing.
Cussing out haters, phonies is paper weight.
Knock ‘em out, let me demonstrate.

Verse 2:
Demonstrating, how to knock ‘em out,
These paperweight phonies, and haters imma cuss em out.
Buss em ****, using taro cards, living out fate,
Navigating while linking my tunes, to start bumping.
Speeding through galaxies, like Captain Picard.
I’m a *******, feelings so ill I could ****.
Got that villain funk, ******* call me master.
Balling like a bachelor, just chilling each day spending millions.

Verse 3:
Game has changed, so has the times.
Instead of writing rhymes, peoples is snorting em.
Deranged turn coats full of phlegm.
Instead of pronouncing vowels, they’s mumbling.
Music has become the chum bucket,
With occasional golden gems.
Shout out Denzel, Joey, Johnson, kaan, and Williams.
And I’ll be ****** like a John ham mad man,
If I start shooting up drugs and end up in neverland.
Flying, off the handle, like a dysfunctional Peter Pan.

Verse 4:
I’ve seen dysfunctional Peter’s, plan not pan out,
So, many times they’s handles have fallen off.
Going off to neverland, because them drugs shoot ‘em up.
**** man these kids madder than John Ham.
Why can’t they be more creative like, Williams, kaan, Johnson, Joey, and Denzel man?
I guess not every gems golden,
Like expecting a bucket of chum producing good music.
With many mumbling vowels, bet they can’t even pronounce phlegm.
Fulls coats turned red, feel betrayed, because the sounds turned deranged.
With rappers snorting lines, instead of writing them.
I guess the times has changed, and I guess so too must the game.

Verse 5:
Asked to choose between a beemer, Benz, or Bentley.
All the same when I’m drinking henny on the highway.
Swerving on them fools, than repent on Sunday.
Attempting not to catch a fine, at least till payday.
Spiralling downhill, mayday mayday.
Declining like the popularity of Spyro.
My internal plains a pyro, La lumbre, lumbre.
Think I need a vk, chilling in the jungle with dk.

Verse 6:
Go bananas in the jungle like Dk,
Just swinging, chilling, relaxing like it’s a vk.
Dancing with La lumbre, lumbre,
No fly zone during the eternal pyro.
**** popularity, imma burn down this ***** like I’m Spyro.
Imma never decline someone screaming, mayday, mayday.
If I did I know that would be a downhill spiral.
Where payday just another day,
But I pretend things are fine,
Attempting smiles, whilst receiving a sundae.
Only fools repent, can’t swerve me compadre.
Doing things my way,
Getting drunk and high,
Addictions are all the same.
Numbing the pain, by paying for fancy cars like Bentley’s, Benz’s, and beemers.
Because to choose between would be insane.

The voices in the mind are a poison,
Internalized oppression taking away what was not already stolen.
The voices seep in, even when I be dozing.
Becoming a nightmare turned reality,
No wonder why I’m broken.

The hatred pierces the veil,
Cross bearing down, grab the nails!
A savage that must be kept sterile.
Internal sin got me feeling like the devil!
Drinking fire water by the barrel.
Thorns digging into the brain, father I’ve failed.
Feel like I’m in a spiral about to go down in flames like I’m Spyro.
The angry be boiling, got me toiling, off the rail.
Lost without morals, feeling as useless as a broken arrow.
Spear slides in the ribs, got me pale.
Bleeding out, pleading out, faith is frail.
Drowning in the deep, bought to exhale.
Grasping, begging, as onlookers watch me flail.
Arms spread out like a scale.
Will I prevail or Peril?

The voices in the mind are a poison,
Internalized oppression taking away what was not already stolen.
The voices seep in, even when I be dozing.
Becoming a nightmare turned reality,
No wonder why I’m broken.

Spat in the face because of my race.
Jeered by people that never had a taste.
Never had to risk, never had to face.
Trauma that is interlaced.
With people being murdered or go missing without a trace.
Jeered by people that never had their history erased.
Who always had a place, always had a plate.
Have you even seen the over representation rates?
For goodness sakes!
Told to get over it as we are getting maced.
Told to get over it as we are being disgraced.
Told to get over it as we are being *****.
With the inner voice becoming internalized hate.
And toxic cycles not hitting the breaks.
Simply because people aren’t willing to embrace!
Simply because religious zealots convinced society that we aren’t loved by Christ.
To those religious zealots I say; you obviously don’t know **** about Christ!

The voices in the mind are a poison,
Internalized oppression taking away what was not already stolen.
The voices seep in, even when I be dozing.
Becoming a nightmare turned reality,
No wonder why I’m broken.

Chelsea, Chelsea, wealthy
I know you're healthy
I know you got a rival in Kathy,
that is, in sassy.
Tell her about Spyro Gyro.
I don't know an Elvira
but I feel like I do
with that song by the Oak Ridge Boys
as if they're toys
and have a rule
in what they think is cool.
Dante, Dante,
you're probably **** as in the formation
'round have a tone time
or was it Doctor Chante.
Earnest, Earnest,
you'll furnish
the furnace for me
of Hell's Kitchen
if it kills you
and someone calls you
I bet, *******,
and they compare you
various carfares
with mildew.