Two people, faces on
A screen, and two
Voices telling us how we should be
What’s new in the world, why we should
Avoid doing this, avoid doing that
What’s in, what’s not, what we should all do best

I see some nods
I see disapproval, approval
I see shifty glances in eyes
I see mouths start to move and talk
I see phones, many phones
I see the consumerism kicking in
I see unwavering doubt

I see lies, a mirage
I see the contours of deception
I see material eyes and material hearts
I see heavy minds and empty heads
I see people wondering about how they should look instead
I see people dreaming of a better life
I see people forgetting their own beautiful life
I see insecurity, stinging idiosyncrasy
I see flaming ******* media hypocrisy
I see romanticization of all things ugly
I see faces that look so young and glossy
I see big lights that cancel out all the imperfections
I see makeup that covers all the unwanted
I see ivory and I see bone
I see a curated life that I’ve never known
I see this image stitched up
And I never see it become unsewn

Time's clock ticking, drops
infinity into the rust of bedside tables.
In Bed-Stuy, in D.C, dear Baltimore. And you too,
Ferguson.
East Coast warriors raise high heavy heads.
Break loose shackles, blushing muscles. Veins
of ancients pump through us.
Now we cry for peace. Resilience and time
******* out from present pleasures. T.V screens.
Longing hours contemplating
forgotten dreams. Nightmares,
trickle blood out of nosebleed section patrons.
An operatic multitude of greed
and insanity. Corrupt millionaires
spit down on struggling, stuttering
lost and alone
actors, poets
the good politician.
The neighborhood bully weeps after swatting a fly,
and immortality feigns existence. Be here
now death, let them know the coming of peace,
spiraling black holes
of emotion and pride and dead boys.
Broken time continuous, and hearts.
9-11, 2001 rocked a nation,
what rocked you?

and this is part 3;

So I just quickly replied with a ******* "it's nothing I'll be alright" but he always knew something was wrong. Kyle's solution to all of 'our' problems was ***. Rough, nasty, sweaty ***. It would go on for 3 maybe 5 hours. Kyle really knew how to turn me on. I'm not so sure what Kyle considered our ***, I considered it making love. But oh boy was it magic! I still remember the excitement I felt the first time he put it in me, I was as wet as a puddle and his **** just fit like a glove. He placed me in a series of positions but his personal favorites were ******* and missionary. My favorite was cowgirl, I loved being on top of him and looking into those eyes. It wasn't just any look though, I always Kyle the "I love you so ******* much" eyes and then they would just roll to the back of my head and my mouth would open wide and I'd let out a very high pitched moan. Kyle absolutely loved to hit it from the back, something about seeing me on all fours really turned him on. It was like he was in control of me, I loved every second of it. But what I loved most about having *** with Kyle was how when I kissed his neck and behind his ears his breathing would slow down and he's close his eyes tight and his whole body would tense up, that's how I knew I had him right where I wanted him. I also loved the fact that he would swear so much and when I was in cowgirl position is slow down a bit to wipe the sweat off of his face. I loved having *** with him because it made me feel important like I had won a prize at the fair. He made me so happy. But when it was all over he'd act like I was just some ******* and would take the ****** off so fast and just hop in the shower as if what we had done was a sin. I felt awful about myself right after and would go *** then lay down in his bed almost in tears. I wondered if he didn't like the ***, he would always say it was great but that wasn't convincing enough. As we later lied down to watch tv for a little before I went home, I would look up at him and just stare for minutes at a time. Everything felt so fake I had to rub my eyes just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I cherished those moments we would lie down together because I got to admire all of his features, I would get to hear his heartbeat and I would just fight my tears. The moment would always be so perfect to me. I only ever caught Kyle look at me once while I was looking away, but never the way I gazed at him. Never with the same amount of passion I had when I glanced at him.

it's because i love you, you idiot.
that's why.
that's the reason for the lingering hugs,
for the long gazes,
for the secret smiles.
that's the reason why my camera roll is filled of pictures of you and none of me.
why, when we went to that art museum i ******* you about what I thought of those stupid paintings because they meant nothing to me and i couldn't even look at them when the most beautiful piece of artwork was standing right next to me:
You.
that was why i wouldn't let you see the photos i took that day because my lens never did find Van Gogh but instead found you.
but no matter how much i secretly write to you it will never be the same for you.
i bet your camera roll is filled of Picasso and Claude Monet and Édouard Manet because to you, they were the only artwork in the room.
they were what you stared agape at, head tilted, disbelief in your eyes,
when for me,
that was You.


― j.r.

I found myself wandering around
the truck stops and trailer parks of
West Sacramento
hung over and thirsty, I found
the first place
I could get a drink —THE ***** BIRD
I sat down at the bar and ordered a Budweiser.
it was basically empty
usual for a Tuesday.

halfway through my beer the bartender slid me another,
“what’s this for?” I said. “the fella over there
bought it for you,” he said pointing to a blind man
and a German Shepherd sitting at a booth in the back.
“you allow dogs in here?”
“nah, but Red’s cool.”

I finished up my first Bud
and walked over to the booth, “hey
thanks for the beer.”
“you should be thanking me, not him
he can’t hear you anyway.”  I looked around.
A paw extended out. “the name’s Red,
nice to meet you.”
I shook the paw, “yeah, uh, Louis.
same.”
“have a seat, Lou.
so what brings you to this dump?” the dog asked.
“excuse me, Red you said? I don’t mean to be rude,
but you’re a talking dog.”
“you don’t say huh?”
“sorry, but this is— incredible .”
the German Shepherd grabbed a bottle of beer in his jaws, kicked back his head
and took a pull,
“yeah? so?
you humans do it all the time
and half of that time the only thing that comes out of your mouths is *******.”
“but why haven’t
I heard of you before? shouldn’t you be famous or
in some record book or —“
“ah, **** that noise” he said,
“I’m too old for that ****.
why do you think I’m hanging out at this **** hole anyway?
no one ever comes in here —“

“HEY ******* RED!” the bartender yelled.
“NO OFFENSE JOE, BUT YOU GOTTA ADMIT,
YOUR BAR IS PRETTY ******! HA HA.”

“so how do you know—“
“oh Frank? how rude of me, I didn’t
introduce you.” Red turned to the blind man in between us
and pawed his right hand, the man smiled and stuck out his hand.
“nice to meet you, Frank. you have one incredible —“
“I told you he can’t hear. he’s deaf.”
“oh, right. sorry.”
Red took another pull of his beer, “Frank and I are ex-West Sacramento PD.
we were partners. narcotics unit.
a few years back
we got a tip on a **** lab at one of the
trailer parks near here. Frank went inside to see if we had the right place. then
BOOOOM. the whole ******* thing blew. Frank went flying. it was
definitely the place. now he can’t see or hear ****.”
“jesus.”
he wagged his tail and laughed,
“yeah, poor *******, if he wasn’t ugly enough before burn marks.
nah I’m kidding. Frank’s like
a brother to me, that’s why I take care of him.” Red grabbed a cigarette out of the pack in Frank’s jacket pocket. Frank lit it for him.
he took a long drag, “you smoke?”


Red and I drank until the bar closed.
we smoked, *******,
played dice (1-4-24). it turned out
we had the same taste for classical music,
Chopin over Satie
and we both agreed
Willie Mays was the greatest
to ever swing a baseball bat.

just shut
the
****
up
everyone.
i don't need
your half-assed,
******* sympathy.
all i need is silence.
from you
and from my mind.
from everything.
make the world stop
for a minute-
for just a ******* minute.
that's all i need.
a minute
of silence
for myself
to relax.
to get away from
all this
stress,
sadness
and anxiety.
to get away
from all the constant nagging,
the constant *******
that comes out of everyone's mouth.
i don't need it.
i don't need any of it.
all i want,
all i need
is a minute
of silence.

I told you I didn't want to be alive anymore. Maybe not death, but the way I was living wasn’t for me anymore. You held me close while I was fighting back the tears and demons. That night, you got me to sneak out, you didn't want to be alone either.
That was only a few weeks ago, do you remember it? Can I have that lovely, midnight boy back? Did I ever even have him?
That boy is who I think about when I speak to God about love. Although whenever you talk about love, you really mean lust or your blessed ex-girlfriend who is stuck in a long term relationship (****** buddy, really wish I could help you out here but I’m selfish. Why can’t you like me like that?)
You asked me to hang out a few days ago, I agreed, of course. I miss you more than I can admit. I told you, no ***. You texted me back, “what’s the point in hanging out if you are going to be boring.'' But what’s the point in falling for a guy who’s an ******* half the time.
Honestly, my version of the “good” you is pretty *******. I mean I wonder if my friends truly believe that you could have said half the **** you seemed to have genuinely meant. I always, always, present you like the best guy you could ever be. Here I am, once again, not even attempting to badmouth you. You really know how to work my mind. I give you props for that. Midnight boy, the one I admire the most, where did you run off to this time? I miss you. Come back.
Somedays I fear you only lived in my mind. My dear, I’m going crazy. I can’t sort what is real and what isn’t. Did you really say all those sweet things to me, darling? Or did I picture you saying that?  I wish I could get out of my head. Usually, I rant to you, but ranting to you about yourself would just simply be obscured. So maybe you can read my poetry someday and realize every verse on every poem is soaked in you.
The real problem is you never truly wanted my love. Maybe it made you feel better, maybe you felt powerful with it. Knowing I would do anything to be with you. Really it should make you feel like a ****** person, leading me to believe you really wanted me. You made up things to ensure nothing came real between us. Parents, sports, lust for any other godforsaken female on this planet. Hell, once you told me you don’t know why I even stay around. That if you were me, you would have left a long time ago. That made me think. Would you really? You told me it was a sign we always ended back in the same position. Underneath the stars on your trampoline. The sun would be coming up and I would curse time for still moving in a time like this. A time where everything was so peaceful and lovely. We would distance ourselves for a month or so. But, we would return back there, spilling out our souls. Or at least I did. You told me I knew everything about you, yet you feel like such a stranger to me.
God, please send this boy some help. I tried, I really did. But as the saying goes, you can’t help someone who doesn’t want it. I want all my prayers about him to be granted if that isn’t much of a hassle. I’m wishing you could hear this all. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried over this boy, yet I only want the best for him.
I’ve cried and cried. But he doesn’t shed a tear, for anyone.

My middle school history teacher
Made me stay after school one day
"Look, your essay is alright, but I know you ******* it. Your a good writer, so your gonna stay and rewrite the whole thing."
I didn't care about school or writing
But I thought, ****, maybe I'm good
At this
Then I got into high school
And the entire freshman class
Had to enter an essay contest
"How the Civil Rights movement still influences us today"
I remember the teacher was a
Real stuck up *****
I wasn't interested in her class
I hardly showed up
And she wasn't interested in me
But I showed up for the announcement of the winner
All the kids were excited
"And the winner is...Raymond Suarez" she read it like a
guilty verdict
"Who's that?" A pale blond asked
"Him" the teacher pointed at me
The excitement in the room hit the pavement hard
I wasn't smiling
but I was
"There will be a banquet with the other state winners to see if you won the state finals. I'll give you the information in a few days"
"OK"
She never did...
Then I ran into that middle school history teacher again
We exchanged phone numbers and he called me that night
"Ray...I gotta tell you something... I'm gay"
"ok..."
Then he called me a few nights later
I was drunk and he wanted me to come over alone
"Nah, I'm gonna stay drinkin with Andy"
"Come on, just come over, I got beer and food, I'll pay for the taxi to drop Andy off and bring you here, what are ya, chickenshit? Your ****** chickenshit man" he said in his sloppy Texan drawl
"Nah"
I opened another beer
And wondered if he ever really thought my writing
Was any good
Then I guzzled that cold crisp beer
Down
And that took care of that thought
And all the rest

don't apologize for giving me
precious memories

i knew what i was getting into
from the start
but you said two things that i can't shake:
at the Cuban restaurant you said you never know
what the future brings
and just now you apologized that things went beyond
what you can offer me
at this point in my life

i don't know maybe it's wishful thinking
or just a game
but you never really *******
always straight up
for the most part

don't apologize for giving me
precious memories