We never turn the light off
It's like we're expecting you to walk in the door any minute
You won't.
But somehow it helps
If we turn it off,
We would have to accept that you're really gone
We can't.
So we don't
Hope is found where the light is
Even though there is no hope,
Even though we've put you to rest,
Even though you aren't coming back,
We're all just looking for something to hold onto
It's false hope
I know.
But it's all we've got

I warned you, son.
"Don't break her heart."
Now you think about that while I rip you apart.

I don't know what it is you seek,
but my sister is out of your league.
Failed to see how lucky you were.
Did not heed my warning when you texted her

What kind of ***** breaks up via texting?
The same little ***** that thinks bussing is flexing.
She'll move onto better, just for a toy.
She won't wait long for a mere busboy.

I could go on forever about things that you lack.
Like, interest, money, a life, a six-pack.
You'll never be good enough for my little sister,
but I hope she's moved on when you realize you've missed her.

To the girl who loves my brother,*

When you look at him, see his wide
eyes as not an invitation, but as an endless
cavern of innocence.
Look at my brother with respect,
as he survived his entire life growing up
with women.
Yes, he was taken in because his parents
no longer wanted the burden of a child
who was believed to be a mistake.
Look at my brother with pride,
because every night he heard me cry,
he whispered into the shadows,
“Are you okay?” To which my
reply was always, “I'm fine. Just sick.”
He listened to me blast my ears with
music to block out the world, and *******
it, he would pull one out just to say:
“Hey, you're going to lose your hearing.”
which was his way of saying,
“I'm worried about you.”
Don't you hurt my brother, as I've said
before, he was raised by she-wolves who
not only built a home, but arose from
nothing.
My brother was a burden I did not want
to bear growing up.
Now, I see his eyes are filled with
life, and his voice is deeper than an abyss.
My little brother who is not so little
anymore.
My little brother who I completely
destroyed when I told a whole bus filled
with kids: “He's adopted.”
I regretted it as his eyes clouded over, and
at such a young age, he knew this was a
bad thing.
Love my little brother for his quirky
comments, love him because I didn't
love him enough.
Love him on his weakest days,
love him when he's crying into
your pillows.
Love him because as I paved a path
for him to follow, he got himself
lost in the woods.
Lead him back to me, please.
Love my little brother as he was denied
this.
-DDF

I have changed.
I have grown.
I am older now in mind and body,
I have loved and,
I will love her still.
I came out as bi to my parents
And I have learned many things,
You have helped me to know who I am,
And so I thank you,
My sister,
My brother,
My friend,
Thank you my Em.

My dandelion boy is the kind
That hangs on by thin, grey seeds.

Growing on the lip of each day’s cliff,  
My precariously-positioned 16-year-old leans.

He’s the kind that hangs on
By nothing more than breaths.

Amidst flowers born with all the right cells,
He just wants to be a normal kid.

What ruffles petals, pushes him,
And when their stems but bend,
He ends up broken.

My dandelion boy is the kind
That hangs on by dialysis and dreams.

The sun warms this high school junior,
But still, he only sleeps.

Ever since I can remember, Barbara has been coming to our home
With her poofy hair and her powdered cheeks, all in a cloud of pink perfume.
She would speak in the fragile, broken voice of a woman well beyond her years,
And Mother would beckon her cheerfully to sit at the table in our dining room.

With whatever coffee was in the *** and whatever Danish found,  
Mother would prepare the table and invite my older sister and I to gather round.
From noon to three they’d gab and chat and flip through the catalogues
That Barbara the Avon Lady had brought.

My sister and I would thumb through glossy, vibrant pages
Of blushes and eye shadows, eyeliners and mascaras.
But I, I would thumb quickly and tire even faster
At the conversation of the table that awaited me, inevitably, after.

With feigned interest, I would sit there a bit
And watch as my older sister would, more patiently, fake it.

I’d grab a cookie and then leave
Mother with her checkbook and her bitter black coffee,
Barbara with her perfume cloud and cheeks all porcelain powdery,
And my sister, with her blonde hair, which was just like mine,
But which tried, much harder to grow much faster.
Yes I would flounce away with my neck-length locks,
And go play with my younger brother.

This is a bookmark from your life
a bookmark in mine
a piece of paper
briefly stopping time
bringing our together our stories
or else maybe a thorn
burying itself
within my heart
' Felicity', your name
means joy but can you bring me any
did you even know
he would give it to me
the glitter, single yellow feather
carefree yet placed calculatedly
upon the red background
red as your distant country's flag
I forget how old you must be now
six, I presume
you've not yet started to ask
about his life yet prior to you, your sister
& your mother
& why should you
my moon faced stranger
all fortune cookies & rice,
straddling two worlds
from birth, a similarity
that in any other life
would make me want to call you
' sister' & forgive everything
Your birth, he
did not deserve, not being a loving
man, as you will find out
once you've grown
out of being a toy
& start to rearrange
the furniture of boundaries
if you should ever find out
about us, my mother & me
& what he did
that will be the time to see
if your heart's worth loving
if so, just call me
I'm leaving you my number
in my mind