"Every survivor of ****** assault deserves to be heard, believed, and supported."

Rainwater of
the Elysian fields,
you assuredly do
like to drown your winged heroines?
You write them as strange
bitter narratives,
spurious to the calling
or as a bit of
bloodletting go.

The history formed around either
her breaking at the seams
upon the witching hour,
and her own home village
pillaging her claims
in the bonfire;
Or the arcane notion
no woman shall give testimony
against a neighbor
on the occasion he's a man.

Yes, she cried 'no' at the temple gate
Yes, she repeated such entreaties
But she'd also been into the ale
and wore an overtly
fetching carousal dress
you incensed.
Let her dam break
Let her try and flood us over
you mocked.
She was only a wayfaring angel
one reckless bird of passage
What type of wounds
could she inflict?

How easily you lost sight
of her will & halo
becoming stronger than fright.
Down she poured in antipathy,
until covering your gaping mouth!
It wasn't rain that killed you,
for you were the rain,
it was her blood calling out
that finally did you in...

He loved to teach...

He loved to teach her...

He loved to teach her abject lessons
      in elevators and on stairwells.


She hated to learn...

She hated to learn from him...

She hated to learn from him the inherent
       danger of buildings.

people **** people
with nothing but fingers and hair
and their very heavy breath.
their breath like a crow beak
before crucifixes of straw. like a tightening banishment of a lung.
remember when we would blow it
onto our car window and create that
consistent mirth of fog to
begin in?

the bodies riddled with bullets that flank
the highway are no such thing.
the schoolchildren lying face down in the corner of the closet are no such thing.
they are just winter coats with schoolchildren to fill them
for the time being.
no amputation of what’s mine
will aid them into the grave.
no mass communication grief. so
why would you call it a mass grave when in truth it was just a pit i dug to fill with crowds of people who died under the pretense that they had previously done so,
that nothing was new under the sun.

and when people **** people like people
do with their instruments
as ways of extending themselves into the world and into the marrow of our body
obliterating organs of people with their stretching of the muscular rib, shoulder.
one eye closes firmly.

it’s nothing but a hand gun
as if to say a hand eats the gun
and makes it whole.
as if to say the reinforced metal door
exit plan for people who are being killed by other people clicked shut and locked
15,000 years ago and i can’t quit slamming what’s left of me into it.

your kid is very dead.
but then again so is mine.
suppose they killed each other.
suppose they both made the mistake of dragging their small, stupid bodies through the trajectory of another body in the first place. in the chip aisle of a gas station maybe. in theaters this christmas.
in the midst of a good song that began playing on the lobby radio
just a minute before,
oh yeah before,
things really got going.

i saw people killing people
on television the other day
with their
whole bodies,
devouring themselves like surgical gloves
slick with oiled consumption
and bleeding out
and i could do nothing.
some kids died just because
and they told me so and i was told nothing could ever help them because they were just people and they were dying.

“breaking news” ended up just being people again.
in those moments, i was eating breakfast.
our houses were very quiet and needed me in all of them, grandfather clock over CNN, clarifying what has already been
committed and committed again.
the cipher was others lost blood.

she was sunshines and smiles and
dripping red knives
laughing and aching and touching and crying
and everything
and nothing at all

Born for greatness
Got stuck in this gutter full of madness!
He was all that you call life
Then the conditions and circumstances we put him in
He turned out immoral and vile!

Now in the pursuit of paper
Thinks he's after happiness.
Forgot how black his heart turned over
Even after saying never
Never will I become like them but just better.

Better he was
Born for greatness
Little did he realise
He was really good with violence!

It was'nt just about the money
He said.
Its about proving they're wrong
With his crooked smile
Never did he realize
He has become a part of something
That he never wanted to belong!

No, I've never felt
Such calm and such peace,
As when I have walked
These crowded streets.

With nods and smiles,
They call out to me,
To offer me greetings,
Or something to eat,

"Do you need a smoke, sir? "
"Hey,  I've got some ****, "
"It's always good to see you
Here,  Mr. C."

I just smile and I nod,
And say nothing at all,
I just give them a wave,
And remind them to call.

The dealers,  the junkies,
The sets and police,
They all know my name,
On the cracked Houston streets.

I know it's respect that
They're showing to me,
For all that I've done as
Who I used to be.

The scars on my knuckles
Still have yet to fade,
I carry my violence
And two deadly blades.

And those who once knew me,
As I was before,
They bow and they nod,
And they offer me more.

TRIGGER WARNING- ABUSE

cold, colder yet colder.
i watch as his eyes fill with rage.
from being a strong shoulder
to cry on, to being impossible to engage.

as red as blood can be,
as blue as bruises can get.
i pray and hope no one sees,
or again i'll face another threat.

if love were enough,
scars and bruises i'd ignore.
but reality is just that tough,
one day i might just turn to gore.

Open those cracked lips
And let out croaks and painful yelps

Drag that bruised and bloodied hand
Against the stained floorboards

Flinch into the boot in the ribs
And let those purple tears swell

Give a broken smile
As you speak misery to me

A dance of pull and push back
A fist encircling a heart
Clutching, Squeezing
Power on one side
Pleading on the other
Out of control
My stomach feels sick
My mind blank
Grasping toward where you were
Spirling into past comforts
Delusional daydreams
Days become memories as they happen
Irrefutable anger
Violence on the body
A mind of blame and contortion
You lay out boxes I can’t fit into
Telling me to get in
I can’t breathe, but you tell me to melt like water and flow.
All I ever wanted was some pull from you
Acceptance and patience of my becoming
But all you know how to do is push back.