I've been initiated, in classrooms
in workshops and at home
in bed, I knew it for sure, I too

am a devil's child
such a person who, in flesh
and blood, can live on pleasure

who smears soap on his skin
places incense between his clothes
puts on an apron and prepares dinner

Every bite, every kiss
is a yes from my senses
and I can't be more earthly

than, out of lust, jointly
initiating a new human
being into a body

six months
after leaving home,
i returned for the holidays.
it wasn’t the warmth
that stayed with me
but the shortage of praise.

i didn’t expect it —
i didn’t expect anything,
just a friendly check-in.

i was surprised to learn
that the people i worked with,
part of the reason i left,
were so smothered
by their own bitterness
they wished for me to fail —
to run back home
after a few weeks,
admit the dream
was too silly,
too frail.

they didn’t hate me,
just my courage —
that i dared
to refine my life
while theirs
stayed the same.

busy in a world
i could call mine,
i remained gone
and let their silence
become my applause.

When I reach for free time
as an adult,
and quickly find it taken,

I remember that ambrosia
is only for the gods,
and mortals beware,

do not interfere
in anything
made for the gods.

what better day than today--

I can't sleep and I can't
stand the daisy bushes at dusk with their
orange glaring eyes glaring
at my fingers turned robot joints back when
they used to--

feel differently
and I

swear I
haven't changed so much and to
prove it I'm trying to dig the eternity out of
algae green and deep walnut irises stranger
and stranger with spoon shovels made of
shallow questions and polite interest without
getting so bored or
wishing I was--

what better day than today to die

I've tied the limbs of my
spirits and monsters alike into knots and
dizzied them in labyrinths of my own muddied judgment
paved with crushed clocks and compass needles and
they are all so far gone, I am
untethered--

even far from my dear music and poetry--

my soul is already split like colored mosaic glass, each of
a thousand fragments not just belonging but
borne out of some piece of art that will long outlive me, so
anyone that minded could
easily piece me back together in death

how I wish that death were the end,
the end, and not a passing over into
some other unknown rumored to outlast everything,
what more terrifying than that and if
I believed there were a true end I might have sought it
much sooner--

what is left for me to do but
papier-mache my body with my old poetry like a
sarcophagus absorbing the things I
trusted to hold me so much closer

I know you don’t forget me,
Don’t view my posts nor my moms.
But I did have fun Ashlee,
You helped me grow strong.

Your marriage goes well?
I’d do anything to chat.
Besides picking up my cell,
And calling you back.

Should have went out to lunch,
Two years ago,
But I thought we had much more
Time before you’d go.

Military housing,
Did you get to bring the cat?
Do you remember the kitten?
His small fur pattern hat?

You did my math,
While I did your reading.
Now we need help in those subjects,
Do the soldiers have meetings?

I’ll call you again,
Probably text before I do.
I can’t promise you when,
But I want it to be soon.

Sacrifices
Painful, yet worthy.
Exist in every aspect of life.
As a child,
some fun if health doesn't permit.
As a teenager,
sacrificing extracurriculars to fulfill parents' expectations.
As an adult,
leaving passions to drown in a stressful job in order to lift responsibilities.
As a partner,
sacrificing one’s own wishes to prioritize partner's likes and dislikes.
As a parent,
keeping personal luxuries aside to uplift children happily.
Sacrifices—
even though seem tough to do,
give a sense of calm and content after seeing later results.