my hands reach for the strings
but i have butterfingers, and i hesitate too much
another missed chance, another lost opportunity

i wanted to tell you first
the confession was sitting on my tongue
but it burned down my cowardly throat instead

every time, the acceptance settles in my heart
heavy, like a small weight on my chest
at least i can carry my regrets without anyone seeing

go ahead, keep the lights shining on me
as i dance with someone who deserves better
who should have received a whole world

but if you look closely, all i had to offer was an arm to hold
and a smile for the pictures when we needed to pose
for my whole world was already in someone else's arms

A valuable life lesson
To all unenlightened seventh grade boys:
Being sons of the male gender,
First find a good sculptor near you
And a rock large enough to be your head.
Because that’s what it should be
Chiseled out of stone. Waterproof.
Because crying
Is only for pretty girls, saggy old ladies
And dogs with eye allergies.
And somehow,
If a stream trickles through the rocky outcrop,
And dares to dampen your sands,
Lick it with your tongue
Before it dribbles down your chin.

I watched my PE teacher
After I fell down and bruised,
My heart swelling into my throat
Like a bloated pink balloon,
Ruby red irises cracking under pressure,
Finally oozing like ripe mangoes.
Each drop paid by a slap.
Barely audible, I coughed, ‘why?’
‘Because’, he spat through clenched teeth
’Boys don’t cry!’

would it surprise you to know
people have told me
they've never seen me without a smile?
did you know
i have one dimple?
everyone gets to see it,
plain as day
on my right cheek.
and when i find myself alone,
when i say goodbye,
see you tomorrow,
see you friday or monday or whenever,
and i am alone,
it disappears.
i guess
happiness looks particularly good on me.
i have always been
conscious of my appearance
after all--
i'm not me unless
i've got my dimple
on my right cheek!
ahaha.
no,
the truth is,
nine years ago in a
solemn little office for
children that don't know how to be children
my mother was told
i have depression.
nine years of this.
i have memories that put that dimple away.
at what age should you
learn how to take a pill?
i had to learn it so i could be happy.
at what age should you
learn not to take pills?
at sixteen i wondered how many i needed
to undo the life i've lived.
how much food is enough food?
i measure how well i'm doing by
how awful eating food makes me feel.
what should i blame myself for?
do my friends really like me?
am i pretty enough for people to love me?
and why don't people stay?
why don't people communicate?
what's wrong with me?
what's wrong with me?
what's wrong with me?
i'm looking for love in the wrong places.
when i look in the mirror,
what do i even see?
let me put on some eyeliner...
...that's a little better.

we kissed once in the backseat
of a dull yellow taxi with
love in our suitcases and mouths

then, another in the backstreets of brooklyn
as the boys hooted at us and whistled
hollering under their hoops

"****, y'all lookin' fine"
and we raised our middle fingers
like it was a salute to the gods

i know this is overused
it feels like just yesterday but
years have passed in a blink

perhaps i am just selfish
but i have yet to move on
i still cannot ride a taxi alone

hope sits silently and oh, how it watches
silently from the seat across from me
clinging to what is left of me

Are there any eyes that won’t burn
When it comes their turn
To be watchful throughout the sea of lies
To watch over a child that cries

Crying for the father that never returned
Or that rejected any stone turned
Will this children’s eyes burn
Because of the tears, or because it’s now their turn

Their turn to watch smoke paint the sky
Turn to watch the seas rise
Their time to watch their kind’s demise
Burn from watching other tearing eyes

Will the eyes of the wise be blinded?
When he has no more wisdom and has to be reminded
Will the eyes of mothers turn to ashes in the air
When they see the world they left is only more despair

Will a white dove cry
When it can’t see the sky
And its kin have turned grey
And there’s nothing we could say
To make them stay
So it’s now the turn to our eyes to burn and cry
For there are no doves in the sky