I flew to Chicago last Friday night
my great uncle was turning a hundred.
The plan was to fly-in Friday, party Saturday,
and fly out Sunday. No missed school.

The air felt colder in Chicago, the wind really bit,
and the sun seemed to be at an odd angle.
We stopped by the beach of a lake so large
that there were waves breaking on the beach.
The party was great. EVERYONE was there.

But then there was the choreography of luck.
I woke up sick Sunday morning - really sick -
deathly sick, you know the drill, weak
like my muscles were falling off my bones.
At 8am Charles called - I should have met him.
I couldn’t lift the phone - I poked the button.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I told him before falling back asleep.
KLUNK I heard my hotel room door open, it was Charles.
He came in looking like he expected a threat.

I could only open my eyes for a second.
“I’ve GOT it,” I told him, (not knowing what ‘it’ was)
“Get out, save yourself.”
So went Sunday and Monday - I didn’t eat or drink.
Charles canceled flights, extended hotel room bookings,
and the car rental. Finally, Tuesday morning, he said,
“I think you’d better try.” So somehow, we flew and we made it.

There was a famous football player across the aisle from me
He’s retired now, like all of my heroes - Brady, Manning.
He played for the Ravens, I’d hated the ravens, I’d hated him,
the way you hate someone just because they’re great
but they play for the other team. I didn’t tell him, and sadly,
I didn’t warn him that I might just throw up on him (I was masked).
Charles bought me one of those horseshoe pillows and I passed out.

Before I knew it I was back in the dorm.
Being sick and helpless, away from the comforts of home is the worst.
I’ll have to remember that - someday - If I’m a doctor.

-someone pray for my family to start moving forward.
-past regrets has my family still walking backwards.
-no gatherings, reunions pass due, no nothin’
-stay in contact mainly on Facebook or group texts.

-I never wanted this
-members can’t get past previous trauma that’s keeping them ******.
-most mindset are like “I don’t rock nor want to bother them.”
-man F**k that -ish
-let’s stick together, we still have time to heal over our egos,
stop trying to quit.

-family wishing to redo their prime past for a better paradise in mind.
-living now is the “fear.”
-since nobody wants to say it, I’ll express this  overbearing feelings.
-the fact my grandma still cooped up in the house feeling worthless
is dangerous cause she feels left out or no one wants to visit her due to “un-build relationships”.
-feeling unfit.

-most members from the Chi-Town calling me like I’m the man now.
-because they can’t get along nor grow together, so i’m their problem solver now.
-sad seeing the family drown, so I pick the pen up to write the words down.
-sometimes it’s embarrassing writing these words down
-but someone has to expose these generational curse truths now.

i wish you good luck and a cup of tea
and maybe that you’d think of me
in the morning between that chicago breeze
you’ve become so fond of.
i wish you warmth and a warm pastry
in hopes that you stay sweet after 9am classes
and glasses that refuse to sit still on your nose.
i wish you love and a bowl of soup
so that you’d give me the inside scoop
on the perils of higher education and
one of those end of the day smiles.
but for now i wish you rest and glass of milk.

air at a standstill
sounds echoing
and breathing still as
melancholy brushes my shoulders and settles inside my chest
this is someone else’s life
my life is
the stench of marijuana on the weekends
we’re sitting closer than needed on massive couches
and each smiles is a rush
because i’m these moments there’s just us and
happiness has made its home in our flesh

i’m unplugging the month old box fan for the first time since i moved in
september 22nd the first day of fall and im excited i was made for the slight breeze of the morning and the warmth right before the setting sun
but like i said i’m unplugging the month old box fan since i took it out of its box when i moved into mine
august 29th a midwestern summers peak when i truck back into the alley of a save a lot and the empty room i moved into
it doesn’t really matter though cause it’s two in the morning of the morning after i shoved the first box fan i ever bought myself under the last bed my mother would ever force upon me and i’m getting upset about the rate at which the world keeps turning
so maybe i’m sad because i haven’t seen my friends since i saw my broken box fan i had for four high school summers and didn’t have to purchase with my own barista money and i miss the way we’d understand the nonsense and sit too close together
but it doesn’t matter cause yesterday way september 22nd. the first day of fall and i was excited and i am excited because i’m unplugging that month old box fan that drowns the quiet in an empty room alone at 2 in the morning

sitting at the edge of the water where the moonlight floats across an unstable surface. tonight we’re all glowing black, and blue, and maybe purple too just sitting at the edge of teal colored turbulence and rusted barriers.
bass pumping through the concrete to the patter of wind borne waves. forces beyond our grasp become visible on these last summer nights and we have our sights set on becoming someone in this city.
there’s a boat sailing across this sea and there’s me in the middle of you and maybe i can understand why they say to stop and smell the roses red and the see the ocean blue as we sit on the edge of the water: moonlight just skimming the surface.

two red pills to cure a cold and the chill of fall
wading through the apartment
pants go on one leg at a time and it’s easier if you ignore the jeans that mean you have a shift later
two slices of toast like grandma used to make and maybe some tea with too much sugar
down three flights of stairs to go see the train you take leave the station above you

‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the homeless, old man begging for change
On the green line station me and my friends get off at to buy coffee
He turns and looks at us
‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the toothless, old man on that cold winter night
As we preemptively pull out our phones and look down at the ground
A defense mechanism
‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the hobbling, old man as we pass him by
Without making eye contact or even a sympathetic nod
If only I had cash on me
‘I ain’t tired!’ repeats the mentally ill, old man while we descend
The stairs down onto the pavement and into Chinatown
The snow continues falling
‘I ain’t tired!’ echoes the starving, old man
His voice ringing in my ears long since we’d left ear shot
The only time I had the courage to glance at him
He was a mess of wires and bone and cloth and paint and white hair
Older than the city I had just begun to explore and call home
Permanently on that train station yelling
‘I ain’t tired!’
‘I ain’t tired!’
‘I ain’t tired!’