Names are funny.

Have you ever wondered what your name would be if your parents didn't name you?

I'm one of the lucky few
that know.

If my parents didn't name me,
my name would be
Timothy.

You see, apparently,
when two people love each other,
Mommy cheats on Donny
with daddy and all three
demonize the baby.

Unfortunately,
abortion isn't an option.
Poor Donny believes
his little Johnson
made a tiny Willie
but really
it's Mike's Rick.
The trick wasn't revealed
until
Donny signed the birth certificate.

Obviously, Karen's husband abandoned their family.
Mike ripped his love from her and gave it to Dominique.

Karen,
twice-scorned,
mid-divorce,
postpartum,
decides a shelter isn't suitable for a nameless infant.

At this point, it's a little too late for abortion.
Nowhere to go,
knowing she can't stay,
Adoption became the practical option.


The noxious auction caused a nauseous reaction to her conscious. Karen picked the option, least pompus, with the most promise. An intuitively honest Christian was brought to her room so she could sign the synopsis.


As she's reviewing the terms of this blood oath, she glances at both of the parents cradling her second baby boy. They turn and ask


"What is his name?"

"I don't know. I thought he was going to be a she so I had the name Sade."


"That's ok, we have a perfect name in mind. Timothy."

Hold on.
I have to clean this up.
I don't want your soles to get cut up by my lack of ambidexterity.
I'm right-handed but I thought I'd try this out with my left
And I'm not as deft with it, especially in the moment, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyway.

It's my fault... I don't know how to juggle.

I'm usually good with rotation but
between the dilation of my eyes and the inflation of my ego,
the sensation of being flippant left me in a painted tuxedo

And it's raining...It's been raining.

I'm not complaining but the paint
is running and bleeding; An apotheosis of Leonid Afremov
needing emotional content to prove I exist.

*I don't mean to be like this. I don't want to be like this.

It was a gathering where emotions murmured
into an answering call for devotion.
Where locked gazes and dilated pupils
mirrored the endless churning of the sea.
The sensation of their very presence
was an euphoric dance that was devised
by the most magnificent of choreographers.
The purpose of this meeting was simple;
It was to be a discussion of plans.
It turned into a
blueprint for the future.
It was your kiss
It was my rapture.

Simple things
to say bonding
two people.
two beings
between
two letters
H and I
Parallel
to their eyes

People always show their true intentions
if you pay attention.

Yes.
I know.
It is irrational for me to think like this.
I poke holes, second guess
and jackhammer at my own foundation.
But, you see, I do care even when
I come off as crass or I dishearten
your image of me.

I
Just
Can't
Stop
Myself

These destructive feelings
and urges towards relationships
are deep rooted in a fear
of abandonment.
I'm a battered man.
Batting below average.
Yet, every chance I get
I bunt or try to get hit
because that's more comfortable to me
Than swinging and missing.

But I do care. I really just don't know how to show it.
I hold on too long to brief moments
that seem to pass from memories
as if I stole them. I'm just nostalgic.
It's the little things that are big to me
and the silly stuff that resonates profoundly.

I do understand though.
The burden of my depression
rests solely on my shoulders.
It's not something I can brush off or
roll over. I just hope that you all
bear with me as I tunnel my way
out of this insanity.

Who ever knew
my best friend
would be a pen?

I don't know why
I keep telling myself
"You and I.", "Us.", "We."
like butterfly wings
are paired, intertwining.
I need to face reality.
Your constantly showing me
That I am uninteresting,
Romantically.

I lay in the bathtub soaking
wet with water running
around my silhouette.  Shaking
as the washcloth smeared regrets
over my skin. The bubbles
give my sins a scent.

As I vent I leave the shower
running so my sobs
are the only thing drowning.
The constant tapping on my face
keeps me awake as I sink into
the various stews my mind creates.

Weights are lifted with pruning. Peeling
of dead skin keeps me from
reeling into depression. There is a harmonic
progression between the faucet and my face,
the scrubbing and my disgrace, the steam and
my own embrace.

I need this state. The decompression
from being bottled up, like a coke, with a smile
is worthwhile. It teaches me
that the expression of  weakness
is key in the building of a better Timothy.

We held hands as time's sand
passed between. Night chocked
the last sun beams. Our conversation
was pertinent to the dwindling
red wine bottle. As the moon glazed
shore began to roar, she whispered
"Let's cuddle." I dropped you, holding her,
and thought "Oh" and began to coddle.

I wrapped myself around her like a shell to a turtle
and she began to nestle on my chest. I guessed
the indigestion came from the Bordeaux bottom.
Boy, was I wrong. See, as I lay with her,
forgetting about you, I remembered
blood is thicker than water. The loves
we choose are stronger than ones
We've fallen into. I wasn't falling there,
underneath the stars, next to the parked car.
I was laying. I was contemplating
as the wind was spraying the lake
into the air.

I came to the conclusion
I was in an illusion of  love.
Confounded by smoke and reflections
from movie magicians. She looked up
to me and I guess she could see
my reality crumbling in the breeze.
She asked if I was ok. My slight smile alluded
I was and we laid in love
until the sun's intrusion.

She was in an
Orange dress with yellow accents.
Wishing I was the blacksmith
That forged her silhouette.
As I watch those stiletto steps
fence across the concrete.

Each strut piercing
the pavement like needles.
The way her hips are waving is lethal.
And that dress is almost see-through.
I want to stand beside her
and see her through the b-sides
that nobody wants to listen to.

There are days
Where my body lays
in
a position
reminiscent
of  1991.

She wanders with a ponderance
of an unfulfilling existence .
It's like she missed the instance
when life was handing out
purpose. She became subverted
by her own thoughts.
Self-image contorted
like spaghetti noodles or dreadlocks.
The simplicity of existing has become brutal.
She keeps the gold within
vaulted like Fort Knox.
That protection is like an island
preventing her journey's beginning.

There was a soft green glow
that read "4:00am".

It was a burning reminder.
He had no place to go.

That blinking colon
mirroring two zeros;

mirroring his pupils
blinking away 'til his life's end

Each second reflected his inability
to face reality with a semblance of tranquility

He was shaking.
Fearful of the sun rising.

The sunlight brought truth.
He didn't know who he was or what he was going to do.

At
the end
of a busy
intersection
perpendicular
from where I was standing
I could see sun reflecting
off auburn hair and a green dress.
and the wind carried a scent of sweet
honey, vanilla lotion and Jasmine

Look at my hands.
They create and shape
Reality on my demands.
These scarred phalangies
contour concepts like destiny
deftly. Meticulously configuring
My Rubix's cube territory
Until the world before me
Is a model of what I wish to see.

I am a god

I will twist this existence
until I find it suitable
for my presence.
Only then my appearance
will be seen as a blessing.
Maybe then I won't have
to be loved from a distance

Rinse
Repeat
A simple man, trapped by society,
Raised to feel indebted to his family
His fantasy is printed and framed
Above the job's lobby. A beautiful
Scene of the mountains in Nagasaki.
The clear air clears the clouds
Of the the solvent factory
So he sits and stares
Ever unsure of his trajectory.
Rinse
Repeat
The quality of his life is priced
At $4.50. If he can't get his fix
Of burritos and churro sticks,
His world turns to bricks.
His grip slips.
The slight weight shift on his hips
Strips his exuberant demeanor
Like a lunar eclipse.
Rinse
Repeat
When he tries to adlib the script,
Life and love kicks him in the intelligence.
His happiness doesn't take precedence
Over the dead presidents he needs
To keep his residence. It's evident
In his directionless aggressiveness,
He feels irrelevant to his existence.
So, he slows the pistons of his brilliance.
Rinse
Repeat
His silence has made him forget his presence
He's become convinced that washing metal prints
Isn't against his will. That the fulfill-
Ment of another's vision is the pill
To his sickness. Like the use of litmus
Will heal his mental limpness
Between 9 and 5. The only thoughts
He completes are *rinse and *repeat

She is beautiful.
Not in the way of Helen of Troy.
Nor in the way Barbie is idolized.
No.
She is beautiful.
Like the sunset reflects
off a serene lake.
Like a breeze that grazes
the skin on a hot summer day.
Like a full moon that cuts through
a midnight fog.
Her beauty does not lead men to war.
Nor does it lead women to starve,
cut and make-up who they are.
No.
Her beauty demands attention,
inspires creation
and crumbles the prisons
of convention.

You can see it in my eyes' dilation.
In the way I lick and bite my lips,
wrap and clench my fists
between sheets of frustration.

Something in the way your hairs twist
insists the soul of an artist.
I swear it was made by a florist
and sprinkled with stardust.

And the quasars your eyes are
Shine brighter than light fractured
through the stones your fond of.
I'm jealous of everyone who's experienced your gaze before me.

The physical features of your body
are just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak,
Of why I find you enticing. Your mind is so entrancing
it could make the Titanic re-sink.

There is beauty beneath your hair,
Behind your eyes, in the center of your mind and the crust of your skin.
A universe of beauty you hold within. As I witness something that rare
I tell myself...No, force myself to believe this is just infatuation.

If I'm going to hell at least I'll meet the devil with a smiling face.
I'm not ashamed, disgraced nor will I try to plead my case.
I'll embrace my throne of fire and brimstone with the grace.
The cyclone of living mistakes I'll be shown will encase my soul.

Truth be told, I look forward to the torture.
My hands being torn asunder for the hearts I've plundered.
My tongue should get cut out because it's really a butcher.
My mind will lose its complexity because, really, that's the best of me
And I'll be babbling like the people on reality T.v.

A piece of me will be taken violently
and slowly I'll lose my serenity
Until I'm helplessly watching my insanity
destroy the lives of those I hold dearly
But don't pity me, I walked down this path willingly.

I find solace in accepting the malice.
It's sort of like walking through a dark forest;
at least I know there's darkness.
At least I know I'm hopeless
At least I know I'm honest
The silence of my screaming soul will leave Satan astonished.

I want to show you the corners of the world.

Yes, you're beautiful. No, I don't want a ****** relationship.

I don't want you to be perfect, just be passionate.

I hope you've forgotten me
So I, alone, can carry
the burden that's our memories.

They were the knotted extensions of her soul.
They showed how she twisted the truth
right out the lies she had been told.
Since birth people tried to typecast her role.

Marry a man
Have some babies
Grow old

Her family would say someone mucked up the recipe;
sugar, spice and everything nice. She was
dissimilar to the 3. Her sugar was solitude.
Her spice? Tattoos. Everything nice in her
had been stripped and *******. So the only
thing left of that were the bits of metal in her lips,
nose and ears. "Brush your hair 100 times a day, dear",
Her mother had said for years. And she did
until the day she told her parents she was
a different kind of queer. Then,the tears.

Somewhere between her mother's damnations,
her father's belligerence and her usual
rebuttal of indifference, she began to take interest
in her hair. Those long, straight strands were
nothing like her. The red reflected
her parents rejection. In that moment.
There was clarity in the contorted
version of love she had to incur.
She decided the only expectations
to accept were hers. And just like that
the barrier between her and the world cracked.
She decided to dread her hair and dye it black.

As the years went by,  her parents learned
to accept their daughter. And in return
each year  she would send them a photo
showing how her hair had gotten longer.
She also added trinkets to the locks and let
the strawberry color grow back.
Yet she kept the tips black to remind herself
no matter what the world wants her to be
the most important thing in life was her self-esteem.

Something like flower children
dancing through a field of trees.
I know it's called a forest
but I'm more set on calling
it what I please. Point being,
I'm joyous like I'm eating
the end of the month's harvest.

The days have blended into a poetic haze
of mismatched syllables, hanging participles
accented with a hint of discourage.
My purpose use to be therapeutic.

Each rhyme I wrote was a comma in my run-on sentences.
And for awhile, I could breathe. Each breath became less wheezy, uneven and strained.
After I gathered enough air, I dared to speak.
Me? How could I even have the audacity to think!?

To my disbelief, my words didn't fall on deaf ears.
The anxiety, shame, depression and fear woven
into every poem made me familiar in the minds of strangers.
These strangers made me feel human.

With quickness that's comparable to the slickness of a parable
I was ****** from a catapult into the essence of prose.
However, the latency between the beginning of my literary journey
and the discovery of my gift for poetry was afflicting my sensibility.

I succumbed to the bullying from hyperboles
and the taunting of iambic pentameter.
At times I was afraid to talk to neighbors
for fear of narrative structure overhearing.  

Now, I am wandering in a fog
though the hills of unpublished work,
echoed only by the crunch of "not good enough" beneath my feet.
This was therapeutic.  Now I use it to influence my movements.

My favorite moments
are spent in darkness.
Seconds spent sightless
wrapped in a woman's embrace
Eyes closed, breath held and lips pressed
against an opposing pair.
The hair of my mustache
brushed past and tickled
the top half of her thought's brim.
She giggled and bit a little
letting me nibble the bottom
as her tongue dribbled to the middle.
She became my phantom limb,
rolling and waving on my whim
and I, hers. As if I were sutures,
she quivered like this moment closed
wounds left by others. But I'm no doctor
and she's no lover. We couldn't even see
what we were doing to each other.

Lost in a sea
Of false realities,
****** fantasies and
Tiresome formalities.

Accustomed to the overture of
Treachery writhing in mouths.

Staggered by waves
Eclipsing my
Avenue to fulfillment

Amidst the silence of an apartment
judgment screams like a stadium broadcast.
The footsteps and chatter coming from the walls
reverberate through all six sides.

Six separate families.
Six separate worlds.
Six separate galaxies.

With one man in the center,
hoping one of those footsteps is for him.
Praying one of those laughs will be familiar.
As he lays on the floor of his home, a small
piece of his hope is chipped as the sounds
fade away into the silence of the night.

Once again he is engulfed by the blackness
he finds so soothing. This is where the footsteps
are for him. This is where the laughter is familiar.
Because they are his own.

We just can't be friends.
I don't like to pretend
that I am ok with you being within
my mind. I don't want you to be akin
to the despair and sin blanketing my skin.

It's not evil but the protection from it.
The confection of your innocence
with my affliction is one thing I'll forever
hold an objection to.

However this fantasy I hold
in your decency is something
hard to restrain. Your look and touch
dispel my agony. Like an act of banditry,
you rob me of my disdain.

Maybe it's your nature
to be nurturing.
Maybe it's the danger
bordering my being.
Maybe I should just ask you.

*I just know you don't deserve this mess

I have never woken up and felt so **** alone.

I understand what your saying
But can it be said in a way that's less

Complacent?
Condescending?
Our points are adjacent.
Maybe that's what isn't comprehending.
Fractured views mending.
See, our argument is nascent
to a conversation. Instead of descending,
we're inventing unrelenting patience
with our ideals.

I've missed hundreds of poems.
A potent poet focused on verses well spoken.
Not one that's been chosen,
Just one that's been frozen.
Stuck on ambrosian bread;
No head, Soft bed, Strong bread:
Just got better instead
On a strand. Better than
Better hand. Rather than
Burning myself, I went outside
And got some help with understanding
the hand I've been dealt.

A lack of traction
like wheels spinning in the mud.
A subtraction of reason;
Call it swimming in a flood
Your blood is red as mine.
We both count
One, two, three, four, five
Six, Seven, Eight, Nine.

So why must you separate us
like cartilage between vertebrate?
I only want to decorate your face
with smiles.

*Is that too much to ask for?

Nobody ever told you to have a high opinion of me.
I know I can be friendly.
However I am quick to stab and ******
Into your psyche. I might be off, slightly,
Because of some anomaly. I'll politely
correct myself then get all touche feely
with your feelings.

Every connection I make
I eventually break.
It's the fear of being inadequate
to someone's taste that causes me to
shiver and shake like ******-doo
I'm not the one that leaves, I make you.
It's really not your fault I want you to shoo
I really don't but I have an abandonment issue.
Its why I live alone and don't pursue romantic
interests. I sit around frantic as if the Atlantic
and Pacific, to be specific, were going to flood
the exact spot I sit in.

Stuck in a rut
of fear.
Guck, through I cut,
now clear.
Shuck, here's a nut;
no beer.
Pluck until ****
then jeer.
Struck at the glut.
New sheers

Curiosity.
Life changing at a rapid velocity.
The hypocrisy of an unjust philosophy
called democracy.

A nation reaching for the stars.
Finding life on mars.
Leaving the earth scarred
as if it's an old girlfriend
crying in her car while
he drives to the bar with the
new woman he's destined to mar.

It's pitiful
The common man is treated criminal
Speaking the truth gets you clinical
trials.  In the age of digital,
the biblical is still considered the
pivotal, principle foundation.

**This is an Idol-me-nation

I died on a Sunday
A day of blessings,
peace. Eternal sleep
was interrupted by medicine.

It happens

When I woke,
I was surrounded by strange people
White suits and blue masks.
Needles in my arms
Sensors on my chest.

That must have done wonders for your anxiety

My...heart...simply...stopped.

As if it no longer wished to fill the pain
of a life half lived. Loves almost won

You can't "win" love

Fights never finished. Things never said.

What did you do?

I quit my job. I told the woman that I like
my feelings for her. Changed Apartments.

What did you really do?

I began living.

Freely

Then next time I die. I will not have regrets.

Take the strings off the viola because
That's where the music is.
Take the nails from the floor boards because
That is where the pain is.
Remove the support beams because
That is where the strength is.
The uselessness
Of these objects
Is determined
By where they are placed.
The fire.
The warmth.
The burning reflected from
Your face
Is incomparable to the destruction that has taken place.

The name came from fields.
Acres of humans forced to work until
They die or are killed.

The rhythm came from drums.
The ones you beat, slap and roll
Off the movement of a tongue.

The steps came from ancestors
Unknown. The only thing they left
Was a rhythm; the symbol
Of a throne, cloned  by those
Who do not know their history or home.

They met in a bottle neck
Mingling with Excitement and Regret.
As soon as their sights were set,
The gathering, they began to neglect.

He was awe struck by her rapture.
Every atom within her seemed to smile;
Something he had to manufacture,
Was a way to stay around her awhile.

To her, he was uncanny to the others.
The ones that tried to impress her attention.
When he first spoke her being shuddered.
Her heart hung on his word's suspension.

A simple hello is how it began.
She said it first while his brain
was still attempting to comprehend
how to approach this sweet woman.

The party disappeared
As the hours grew queer,
She offered him a ride home because of
the scent of breath in his beer

I am left with shreds of memories.
The time spent in solitude
with you proves
only one thing.

Little instances held onto
like a child's hand dangling
from a cliff.
Sweat mingles and loosens our grip.
Passionate.

We are losing,
Never mind, I am losing.

We used to say " I love you";
Now we just think it.
The people we became
are an odd fit.
I will admit
I am no longer pleasant
to be around.
Constant scowls and frowns
amidst the silence.
The clicks of keyboards
divide us.
Define us.
Align us.
We used be to analogous
like Bubble gum Princess
and Finn.
Just like them we've become unakin.
Padme & Anakin.
My fear of loosing you has caused me to loose you.
Like an episode of That's So Raven;
attempts at the prevention
of the future
ripped open the sutures
in my heart once again.

Drinking
                                                                                                       *Smoking
                                      *******
                                                                                                                                        Partying
                                                                        Dancing
                                                                                                                    Making out

            I don't understand what it's all about.*

                                                            Standing around a party devoid
                                                            Of any fun connection;
                                                            Annoyed by the blatant lack of direction
                                                            Among my peers.  My college years
                                                            Are being spent disassociating myself
                                                            From those hell bent on doing nothing of
                                                            Importance.