You are the rain
sometimes cooling down
sometimes in the way
sometimes comforting me on my couch
sometimes frightening with rage-
but you are not just the rain
you are a cold front
on a hot day
with the sun still shining-
brushing against my face;
and I dream of when you’ll come
and I beg that you would stay,
I anticipate the moving clouds
knowing they carry you my way-
but you are not just a cold front,
you are not just the rain,
you are an old tree
in Bryant park
protecting our great love
protecting me in your shade;
and I know God has planted you
and I know that he is great,
but I am thankful for your falling leaves
casting beauty in my face,
calming me down with your grace-
-there is not a more beautiful place-

im having a good time
im listening in
reading your lines
and listening in.
im having a good time
going blind
staring hard at my computer light
smiling
laughing
enjoying life-

and you ask me
"you ever watch V.R ****?
it's something else man,
you need to try it sometime."

"no, i definitely wont do that"
was all i could say
because the fact is that
many will tell me
that **** makes a new way
a new spark
in their grey hearts
in need of extra blush-
but i see the pain
i know the truth
"but my life is my own, it doesn't affect you"
is all i hear from every single person-

so i'll keep pretending
that i don't care as much as i do
as much as the rage in my heart does
as much as the pain in my mind does
for there is no proper connection
there is only fantasy
and *** loses luster
when mixed with depravity-
desperate love
ruins patient kindness,
and poisons kisses
with licentious darkness-

there's still a boy
trying to fly
trying to dream-
in his mind
that he can fly-
and if he could try
he would first touch the ceiling fan
spinning on high
wobbling out of control
with loose screws that used to be tight-
then he'd make his way outside
and crash through the clouds
get a foaming cloud beard,
maybe drink the cloud dry.

wouldn't that be something-

wouldn't that be something if we could all just levitate above the ground
and maybe shoot into the heavens without ever coming down
and maybe we could get away from the day to day for just a few years
or maybe if we could fly, life's needs would disappear-
or at least the car payments
and at least the gas
maybe I'd own some shoes and for once they'd last-

but the truth is-
no matter how high you can fly, life will never drift away-
you'll still be 24, depressed, feeling meaningless, and dismayed;
that fence you couldn't quite squeeze through will only grow, it wont fade-
you'll just stare at the wall and wish for something else instead-
maybe a cloud blanket
or a bullet in your head.

there is a greying definition
of covering to protect-
the loosened tightening of fingers
contracting and outstretched.
one must take care to be gentle
with the laying on of hands
for the comfort turns to pain in time
with all the palm’s reprimands.
greyed between control and love
the words will stick and poke,
until the image stays full grasped-
what once was tender holding is now a choke.

grandma hoists her paralyzed son
out of bed
lifts his head
shakes in dread
(a grandson, now their kid)-
she takes her time
doesn’t whine
about how much pain it is
-
when they get to the church
she opens the door
struggles some more
because of the strength of her spouse
who is old as death
and out of breath,
moments from his heart giving out
-
so when the pastor preaches
she goes at it again
reaches out to heaven,
all but her husband can hear the sound-
this time with anger and rage
she pleads and she prays,
that the two coffins she built will fill by the end of the day
and her two burdens will be stuck in the ground.

taking a look in the mirror
you find that there is mostly you;
the walls became smaller yet superior-
once they’re out there’s no coming back through.
and you
wonder why
as the days go by
the people you once had
in your life,
by your side,
leave and they never come back,
never try,
never climb
over those walls
with those apology letters saying
I
am
sorry
will you
please
forgive
me
now-
they’re not sorry
(they’re not sorry)
they’re not sorry
(they’re not sorry)
im not sorry
I’m not sorry!
if you wanted us to stay,
then why did you try so hard to push us away;
if all you wanted was equality
then why you try so hard to make your voice
the only voice I could hear, could breathe, could see, could believe, could stomach, or could retrieve!

as your walls go up
and the blinds fall down
don’t peek outside
to see if we’re around,
because you said it,
you said we should leave
simply because
we had disagreed;
you’re always saying, that we never listen
and when we stop talking, you finally get all your words in
to call us the blind, the defective, and the useless,
but a friend can only stay so long and endure all your bruises!
so when you look back at now, when quite some time has past
remember my words to you, though unsympathetic, they will last:
you were the hypocrite, pleading for peace but sparking rage,
disowning everyone you knew, hiding away in your cage!
and when the pain and hurt from others finally went away
you crawled back out just in time to reassure us that you still hate
everything that disagrees with anything that you do,
hitting us with harmful words, severing connections right through-

your
opinions
have poisoned yourself
I know
it’s because
you’re going through hell
and
you
just
want
some
company-

sometimes
things don’t play out the way you want them to
but what’s up to you
is whether that makes it good or bad
- some don’t understand and won’t ever do
that the reaction and emotional transaction
is something you get to choose-
regardless of the feelings others had.