you are an unholy sort of beautiful
a rejection of divinity in every freckle and curve
in the dirt under your nails and the blood in your smile
your crooked nose and clever fingers screaming that you are godless

you dress yourself in an artless kind of humanity and revel in the shock it brings
hair and skin and dirt and all the warmth you can gather between two hands
you cup your heart in scarred palms like the very opposite of a benediction

you wear debauchery like a second skin
darling, you could **** god with a grin

Dad,

Did you really mean the things you said to me? That one night.
Did you really mean to disown me at birth? That one afternoon.
Did you really mean to hurt me and the woman I love? That one day.

Before birth, dad, I learned love through closed fists.
I learned love through the smell of bourbon and the taste of whatever drugs were on your tongue that night.
I learned love through abandonment.

At the age of three months, I was naive.
I thought love was shown in the shapes of bruises.
I thought love was left in the burn marks.
I thought love was embedded into broken ribs.

I thought sleeping pills made you fly.
That’s why I cried for mama to take me with her.

At the age of seven, I was naive.
I believed you loved me.
I believed that I was the subject of every waking ballad you’d sing to me.
I believed that your rough hands rubbing lotion on me was out of love not pure obligation.

At the age of nine, I was naive.
I trusted your words.
I trusted your vows.
I trusted everything you’d say.
Yet, you never showed up.

But even love can’t make room in busy.

At the age of eleven, I was naive.
I waited for you.
I longed for you.
And some nights,
I cried for you.

But distance makes screams seem quieter than they seem.

At the age of thirteen, I was naive.
I needed you.
That year I tried to fly like mama.

No one cried for me.

At the age of sixteen, I was naive.
I was cutting the thought of you out of me.
I was cutting the half of me that belonged to you.
I bled out the portion that reminded me of you.

Dad, I’m scared.
I’m terrified that I forgot a piece of you.
That inside me, somewhere, is a part of you growing.

I don’t want to hurt the ones I love.
I don’t want to ruin everything I love.
I don’t want to make anyone feel the way you made me feel.

I fear that I'll grow up to be you.
Ruthless, mysterious, alone, aggressive,
And a coward.

But
At the age of 18, I wasn’t naive.
I pushed you away.
I cut all ties.
I disowned you this time.

At the age of 18.
You created sons,
You created a family.
The one you always wanted一
You finally found the true meaning of love.

Your youngest daughter,
Marrianna.

On the stage dancing
With thunderous applause
Not for me either
But for my brother

Hard to swallow that pill
Without having jealousy to ****
Took everything from me
Yet I let him be

Slash.
Dodge,
Jab.
The chance.
It will only come once.
But you let it go.
Mistake?
Maybe.
The chance.
Only this time, not for you.
It will only come once.
But they don't let it go.
Mistake?
You decide.

i am a bear i am a wall
many things can ****
a bear and break a wall

ivories that are made of letters
grey skin, blackred hair, word babies
gigantic mirror, blackly glowing
psychedelic nature like 1968

apartment in the projects
hallways full of dust and spiders
uncle is smoking the daylight away
his walls covered with bulletholes

red and tired eyes, no smiling
uncle's wife killed in a car crash
dead goons are torturing him now
the memory of her dead body, stuck

past encounters like smoke in the air
red frost covers uncle's body, glaciers
a button to turn back time, fantasies
melting hours for god's sacrifices

i still remember how stupid i was when i was with you.

frozen in place, i
watched you sharpen the knife
that you used to tear me apart.
nothing could have made me move.

i thought that was love.
giving up pieces of yourself.