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I had a moment for myself to walk through October,
To stay later in bed,
To be properly clothed and decently fed,
To be happy and sober.
A
poet's ink
has
a
toxic tip
to
a
viral
end
Laughing
loving
hugging
kissing
dancing
when no one seems to care
When I was a child,
I was taught poetry wasn't mild,
It was deep as the sea,
And it seemed truly unachievable for me.
I was taught poetry had to rhyme,
Every single line, every single time.
So poetry seemed out of my reach,
Like chasing a seagull down a beach,
Jumping ever so slightly away,
Or soaring into the sunny day.

So I never thrived for what I thought would,
No, Could
Never be.

I guess now I'm fixing the mistakes of past me.
Confess they say
I wouldn’t want it anyway
It hurts deeply that I can’t receive the love that I want
Is it hard to achieve ?
Or do I have to bleed for you to see
I’m sorry that I couldn’t be what you need
My love one day you will see that I was here for you to lead
made-up words
bringing me joy when i press
the italics sign, writing my own stories
and building my own kingdoms
with the power of my keyboard

i don't need hammers
i don't need stone
i don't need a team of builders
i just need my pen
which is sharper than any sword

a zheshi is a girl
in this made-up language of mine
filling the rarefaction
of my motivation
When my ****** showed up on under the "people you may know" tab on fb. It felt like the closest to investigating a crime scene that I've ever been.
That is if you don't count the clock work ****** that I make of my own memory every time I go down Colfax avenue.
Still
I sit in my living room and I search for clues.

Click

He is Smiling...

And I see myself caught in his teeth,

He's Dancing in some club In a city I have never been to.

Click.

He is eating sushi over a few beers with friends

And I am under his finger nails.

Click,

I know that alley.

Click.

I killed the memory of that t shirt.

Click.

This...

Is a baby picture,

There is also an older man,

Presumably his father.

They're are both round, And bright and still

Smiling....

Click.

He is shirtless,

And I see myself in the weight room mirror,

"#beastmodeselfie"

I call him the WOLF, when I write about him.

The WOLF!

So as to make him as story book as possible.

The WOLF!

When I write about him.

Which is to say my

Memory..

Escapes the ****** When the internet suggests it.

Facebook, Informs me we have

3

Mutual

Friends..

Which is to say, That he is people you may know.

And that, I AM People you may know.

And there are people who know,

And people that don't know,

And  people that DONT KNOW THAT I WANT TO KNOW,

people that I am afraid to LET KNOW,

and probably people that know him,

That know of me, that know OF the word

NO!

NO!

NO!

NO is a flock of sleeping sheep sitting in my mouth.

And now.....

Now I know the wolf's middle name...

And what he listens to on spofiy.

And the all to familiar company he keeps,

And he can no longer be

"The wolf."

Or the nameless grave I dig for

Myself.

We have...

3

Mutual

friends

on Facebook.

And now it feels as if they

Are holding the shovel.

64 people..

liked the shirtless gym pic.

4 people

Have told me that they'd rather I said

Nothing.

2 police officers,

Told me I must give his act a

name

or it didn't happen!

That obviously I could have

Fought back.

Which is to say

No one comes running for young boys who cry

****...

When I told my brother,

He also asked why I didn't fight back.

Adam....

I am...

Right now.

I promise.

Everyday, I write a poem titled

"Tomorrow"

It is a hand written list

Of the people I know that

Love me.

And I make sure  to put my own name at the top

By Kevin kantor
You are not a victim, you're a survivor
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