i might not always be the best fit
and might not be able to squeeze my edges in
i will doubt myself again
and i will think that someone else belongs where i am-

there isn't enough time in the day
for me to get the thoughts out of the way
to deal with the shame
and the self hate-
as the minute hand spins round and around
i cannot stop myself
from thinking that God's breath was waisted
that he should've made someone else
and that the air i've tasted
should've been ****** from my lungs
something i never should've felt.
i see the sun in others eyes
and worship their beauty
and curse my ground
because the radiating light
from the sun i'm viewing
could never come from my mouth
or my heart
or something inside my stomach
growling for more-
all i do is consume
and drink up the spills on the floor-
i am the dog
begging for the scraps
and i am unworthy of anything
besides that.
besides the moldy trash.

i might not always be the best fit
and might not be able to squeeze my edges in
i will doubt myself again
and i will think that someone else belongs where i am-
because where could i belong!
where would my place be
would i sit beside you
or beneath your feet-

(my heart humbled knows what i deserve
-the worst
-the crumbs
-the feet upon my head
but you pick me up
tell me i'm free
wash me clean
throw me a feast
robe me
and celebrate how you are no longer lonely
for your cherished son
who did you wrong
and spit on your name
is not lost in a grave
but is home-
i
am
home)

truthfully
you will never see me
the way i see you
and you will never forgive me
like i do-
because
we are different you and i
different grass
same sky
different heart
different minds
different understandings of riddled rhymes-
and you will try and see me
and i will try and see you
-truthfully
i do
see you-
but that's not enough for one to be seen
and heard
and understood;
there has to be a greater blanket
to cover up good
to cover up blood
and to hide all the wounds-
but as you cut in deep
you stab me too.

Holly smokes a packet a day
and it makes her voice sound raspy-
but business can’t stop you from being a babe,
but these babes just ain’t that classy-
and you can shake what your momma gave ya
and get all that you need crassly
but that can’t stop the people from starting to say
“I think that girl gets nasty”.

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.