Before
In a time I can't remember
There was nothing but dark

Then you arrived
A sun to light up my world
Water to keep me alive

You were sweet like honey
With the right amount of sour
To keep things interesting

I made a mistake

I told you who I am

You may be supportive, sure
But you'd never change
For someone, you claimed to love

I was tossed aside
While you ventured out
For you next conquest

How could you
Someone as broken as me
Break me even more?

June is the soft smile of your best friend as you regale them with your tall tales about how the weekend went, and their sweet giggle as you eat cheap lollies from a shady ice cream van.

June is a spinning ferris wheel at dusk, overlooking a royal blue bay scattered with olive green tents, and your little cab on the wheel that you get into over and over again.

June is the crisp notes that you spend on thin, wispy clothes in high-street stores, and the novelty sunglasses you try on in an opticians and end up buying because they're cool.

June is the flavours of a spice-infused curry, and a large spoonful of rice afterwards to soothe the burn. It is the tall cup of fizzy cherryade that tastes like it did when you were 7, but a bit different.

June is rainbow-spotting with your friends, and being yourself, and maybe for once not feeling so alone in a world that's usually so cold.

June is flying the flag of the weirdos, and jumping up and down to rock music, and flinging open your windows dramatically in time to the soundtrack of a musical. It is 80s music so loud that you can already see the noise complaint, but the complaint never comes.

June is a month of discovery and talking about nothing for hours on end. June is about hope, and a dawn for something different. June is about having a dream, and having the power to make it come true, because no matter who you are, you deserve for your dream to come true.

June is your time, but only if you let it be so. Will you stand? I will be beside you. I love you, and I'm glad you exist.

if ya down wit dis listen
to this gayrap swallow it
like a fat jaypack it is anti-macho
against crews like humpty-packo

pitch-black baby ain't no rooster
will **** wit our ****-booster
we are too star for your underground
flows are miles-high and they glitter

it is lipstick-**** we're spitting poison
and your kid sound vanishes
look your raps are always "almost"
you'll be killed by our host

like the impaler this guy vlad
your midlife-crisis is cute
eminem is now called ruth
the new rapcolor is purple

Clumsy Gazelle Poem
10/??/2015

Dear Dad,

The last time we spoke, was spent walking down the sidewalk together in some metropolitan area.  There was a tunnel up above, I guess we were in what you would call an underpass and a giant graffiti'd dumpster was awaiting our passage.  You pulled on my arm with strong resolve and guided me into the street, as if the cars would dissolve in front of us as we inched farther away with our feet.  I felt like a modern day Moses, it was magical.  Once we reached the other side of the Chevrolet sea, you pointed out to me that our sudden death match with the traffic was a tactical maneuver.  There was a gang operation being run no sooner than just beyond the trash bin... I woke up from that dream and immediately knew what could have happened.

I took a trip to Chicago this summer, the first of its kind.  I felt like you were watching over me, keeping me safe the entire time.

I can't recall too many words you've said to me, but I have quite a few for you.  Like to start, here's two.  I'm gay.  I wonder all the time, if maybe you already knew.  You always called me by the nickname Cool.  You told my mom that when I grow up I would be a ******* and a big drinker too.  You got one-and-a-half of those right.  

I inherited your hair and your goofy smile too.  Neither of those are all that great, but I guess they'll have to do.  I've heard the story from your poker pals about the time you won at pool.  You got up on the table and in your most graceful pose and poise, the pool stick struck, and as the 8 ball sunk, gravity grabbed and you fell.  Once you stood up, you addressed the **** up and said, "Like a gazelle."    

I've made my own leaps too, but every gazelle has its gaffes.  I've fallen in front of friends but made it out of every situation's extremes. It seems that when gravity pulls me down, all I can do is laugh. I'm glad I got that from you - I'd rather be a 'clumsy gazelle' than a 'graceful giraffe.'

I think she is made of clay. She doesn’t eat or drink. Sometimes she cries a tear for me. Never for us. I shower her in kisses, silk dresses, in jewels. She does not move from her place above my bed. She doesn’t even smile. It isn’t about me but it is. I was too late. I was not enough. I am left with loss and a memory and jewels multiply in my hands so I stuff them in the caves of her collarbones. Her. Not her. A crown appears above my pillow. The clock’s last golden tear slips into the sewage pipe. I ***** rubies and the door does not open anymore. I am the mine and the miner and you are the Madonna, a treasure chest of blood and breath. You are a taker. You drain me. Diamond teeth glint in the streetlamp shadows. I cannot sleep unless in blackness. Suspended over my bed you are the afterfumes of all my dreams. Sometimes I break the spell and you shatter on the floor. I weep, I stamp until my feet are starry pulp, I fall and it is a dance. Quartz grows in crystals in my throat. It is hard to speak. I weave you a new silk dress from rain that falls from the ceiling. I will you back to life. I ask you to forgive me. I forget you are a puppet. In the evening a soft green tear lands on my cheek. It isn’t mine. A crown appears above my pillow. I do not know who it is for.

your heart is banging
against your chest
the end of your quest...







you've found the best

My mom would accept me eventually,
but she would be rude when i started to do social “abnormal” activities

My dad and I don't talk.

Which I find kinda funny, because even though my sister is older and has more memories of the man, she doesn't think of him as a dad

I’ve always accepted him, when he made me laugh, when he took me to the movies, when he scolded me, when he even forgot me at  the mall, when he told me he loved me, when he made me cry, when he came home… when he didn’t

My dad doesn’t talk to me

I thought our relationship was built off love,
not the way I throw a ball or who I hangout with.
I thought our relationship was built off trust,
Not what I wear, who would I would marry

That man will always be my dad
But I’m no longer his son

Oh darlin' you think too much of me
I ain't sensitive
I ain't steady
I ain't kind
and I ain't somethin' to be tamed

I like you in my own way
but my bones ache to wander the wide empty prairie
which frightens you
but thrills me to the depth of my soul.

I don't got your morals
and I sure as hell ain't gettin' 'em soon
you can't hold me down
but have some faith sugarplum:

I'll come back to you.