It's 10:55 on December 27th and I swear that I
will be able to forget the constellation freckles on your arms
and how you shoved the "passive aggressive" note you asked me to write like I used to
into your bag and shrugged it off when I asked like--
like you don't know your own charm.

It told you to "stop messing around on Facebook and write your **** :)",
which may have been the last thing I would ever tell you to do--
I forget--
just like you forgot how much you missed my notes and reminders and all of it
(except for me).

So, if you can forget about every Sunday night
and the way your fingers danced on my ankle and my thigh,
then I can pretend I never loved you in a way I swore no one else could
because, to this day, I'm upset that you seem to think that there was anyone else besides you
in this endless universe that ever would
do.

I will forget the way you said my name when you were tired, frustrated, and alone,
and the way you asked me to get wine drunk,
because the 150 reasons that I was in love with you
are the same reasons that I need to let you go, too.

the day of the sun precedes the day of the moon, as if to remind us of the light within that reflects in the dark. and maybe we share that same light? how utterly and cosmically beautiful.

Sundays are meant for writing
about our soulmates.
So endow my affection that is gifted
with great patience and tender
loving kisses.

For our love tastes like a ripened pomegranate,
for our fruity fingertips.

Blessed by a sea apart,
all I could see and breathe is you.

I sat with myself and painted a picture
thoughts can create a distracting mixture
my elixir?
Running parallel to peril
hoping those same thoughts became sterile
slowly becoming fortune’s foe
standing toe to toe with
a monster, my monster, the imposter
who likes playing doctor prescribing more self judgement
self inflicted punishment
and I can't let my thoughts run rampant
the cost of two face talent
everything needs balance
changed my habitat to reach metamorphosis
metaphorically floors above yours I’ve laid the ground work for this
so don’t try to match wits, you matched up against an all out blitz
full throttle my charisma is out of the bottle
having emerged from the darkest of dreams
behind the scenes, behind the screams
I awoke to start sowing up the seams
whipping up elaborate schemes
to ****** my forgotten future upstream
somethings I’ll admit are out of reach
but my experiences moved me in ways my father couldn’t teach
made me the man I am, proved my resilience can’t be breached
Geared up for the appearance
grabbed a hold of my perseverance
disabled all interference leading up to this ascension
see these words that flow from my pen
can pierce you, strike you from within.
A picture says a thousand words,
but my words can lay a thousand year siege
helping me hone in on my prestige

sunday nights at the house are brutal
yelling and being *******
taking our arguments and stuffing them in our pillowcases
to confront the next night

we go to bed angry
not at ourselves but at each other
but we don't care
we'll separate into our rooms
distance ourselves to our own space
think, breathe, and think again

we are not a family
merely people dependent on people
we do not share the same taste
or the same aspiration to exist

we are simply people angry at people in a house on sunday night

I've got a confession

What's my lesson?

Marlin Brando
Flounders
Off the coast

Who can boast?

The host

Steal the roast
And walk away
without even a ******* toast