I put it down
next to the piano on the bench
the 8.5 by 11 paper where my problems poured into existence
I watched it sit there
and watched them pass it
was it as invisible as me?

I looked once more
and it was gone
lets see who gets to ignore my issues this time
mom or dad.

You messaged me,
Said you wanted to be friends.

I responded with a "yes",
It was a lie and that's when the anxiety kicked in.

We spoke for long,
My texts were all lies.

But behind a screen,
So easy to be fake.

And then when we met,
It became face-to-face.

I couldn't make eye contact,
The words were faint.

You texted me one last time,
To explain your pain.

An uncontrollable thing,
Made into my fault.

And then you wonder why,
Why I don't have any friends.

If I told you that I cried,
How would you look at me?
Would you see me as weak
Like the time I scraped my knee
And the tears fell from my eyes
Faster than the blood escaped my body?

If I told you that I got a rose tattoo,
How would you look at me?
Would you see me as "less than a man"
Because society has taught you that flowers are feminine
And you are too afraid to admit your hyper-masculinity
Blinds you from seeing otherwise?

What if I told you that I am an emotional black man?
Would you look at me differently,
Because I allow myself to break free of what society paints a man to be.

If I told you that I cried because I'm scared to die,
Would you hug me?
Would you tell me that everything will be okay?
Or would you neglect my feelings?
Because "men aren't supposed to feel".

Since I'm an emotional black man,
Am I still your son?
Am I still your friend?

it's hard
to read
you
through
your eyes
because you
keep them
stormy and
void of any
emotion,
dark and
bitter,
almost keeps
me up at
nights,
trying to
remember
the bridge
of your nose,
the shape of
your eyebrow
and your grey
eyes,
nothing
crosses over
your face
except
a tiny snarl
that slips past
your lips,
if only
i knew
how you felt
when i
told you
i loved you.

I want
my heart on a platter
so I can see the ins and outs
Want the act to matter
See it mirrored, my mouth, it shouts

Feels like
standing in front of the mic
singing of losing track of time
remembering this certain chime

Means I
don't really know how to defy
feeling lost in the rubble
of uncertainties and trouble

I hide
behind buckets full of the tide
I filled when the ocean didn't look
all I could see I took

I keep
time in a place safe and deep
live inside a moonlit jar
an ocean filled reservoir
read my own memoir
and said au revoir

The world is complicated
the cure to cancer is
but feelings
well at least they shouldn´t be

sadly they are
or at least we make them.

It should be so easy
as deciding which box to check, yes, no or maybe
just like we did as kids.

But we grew up
and it´s not that easy anymore
it´s not just yes and no
it is way more complex.

It may be de decision of a lifetime
or maybe it isn´t.

Are we in it with 100% of our heart
or just 70%
because these 30% could make the difference between
the best and the worst
between right and wrong.

It is not just our heart or head deciding
they both have to aline,
and that is so complicated.

Although the journey to heaven
can be a little rocky,
at times strenuous
and even complicated.
I will learn to pace myself,
sit back and reflect,
use life's navigation...
But forgive me if I do get lost along the way...

I will continue to walk down that path,
to find myself...
and to find you.

do you feel  anxious?
can you still eat without
having the thought
that maybe you'll
swell up and
can't get past door
or hearts?
wanting to be like
paper but
you never thought
that being paper
was fragile
and that people
could write all
over you.
what you needed
was thick skin
and a thick heart.

do you feel scared?
when you hear your
name, thinking
are they talking
about your scars?
your imperfections?
your breakouts and your
bruised skin.
can you look at someone
straight in the eye
without thinking
that they're staring
at that ugly mole
and aren't even
focusing on you,
so you look down
at their feet
but darling,
you should look
at them with pride
because your scars,
marks and pimples
are not an end
but they are
a journey,
a story
of what
you've gone
through.

do you feel stressed?
when compare your body
to a model or an idol
who has a tiny waist,
yet she's curvy,
do you measure your breasts,
your waist and looking
for solutions to looking
like your 'dream girl'
that you dream about,
the one who's
so confident
so beautiful
so perfect?

have you ever thought,
that maybe
your dream girl
was actually inside of you?
she came to birth with you
she opened her eyes with you
she said her first word with you,
she walked with you.

and she'll dream with you
oh she'd care for you,
look out for you,
crave for you
but most of all
she'll love you.

you are your dream girl.