Sections

33

2009-09-12T01:18:00.001-05:00

Words of conviction are not suited
for those that don’t need to speak them.
But I miss my friend.
Proof that fate is not totally heartless
I beg forgiveness for what I do to you, for
all you’ve done is give light
I failed to return
I only sought to imbue you:
be you to you,
impart the joy of a heart thankful.
It is not that I was nothing
before you
but I believe I am something
because of you

In gratitude
I want to take up my blade
with your flag at my back
and charge.
Fight wars not fit for your army
battles unworthy of your sword
stand atop the shoulders of your enemies and
proclaim you my friend
until their ears ring with the truth that has saved me.
I want to crawl to the darkest of places within thee
sit there with the little girl inside
and listen.
Touch my fingers to hers and let that be all the light needed.

I want to know you like I thought I did.

Backstage after the show
with the smile wiped away

I want to know your story,
turn the pages
you let no one turn.
Give you water
for every drop you have poured into others
so that the empty is gone and your vessel is full again
until you are more
more than
less
more than Alice
as opposed to the feast you have become for all of us
I would feed you I want to cook for you
labor all day in my kitchen
place a meal before you
and feed your heart
until you laid back, soul full.

I miss my friend.

The who teaches me having compunction means not caring about the cost
giving orphaned souls absolution for their birthday
lost hearts compassion for Christmas
and any man or woman would love to hold your hand in thiers
I want your shoulder to mine
my fist pounding yours
I want to be what you have been
regardless of the fact that I wasn’t the one God gave superpowers
Grant amnesty to the ugliest thoughts
I want the wisdom to know not to fix you-
to find you at your worst and tell her
she is forgiven
for even thinking she needed to be.
Watch you heal every ear
I sever for you
and maybe learn to use mine.
Give you air without pressure
bestow enough wind to float on
without tossing you about in my storm
I will release you from my net
save you from suffocating in my bell jar
I will break the glass I pinned you down behind and
if I never see your face again
at least
you got what you wanted. for once.
I miss you.
There is an empty space in my ace’s place
and now
nothing
seems
to make
fish.
Even if we weren’t alone
I would sing a song for you
and I assure you
I would sound HORRIBLE
but it would be okay
because I would be no less a fool
than I’ve been for trying to bottle divinity.
It would be easier to live
without you
if you didn’t live within me
but if need be
what we love
we set free.
This poem
is grateful
for your song.
I have learned
that words of conviction are not suited for those
that do not need to speak them.
That true enlightenment means not catching the
sun
but being allowed in its light.

32

2009-09-12T01:17:00.001-05:00

Came in
trying to figure it out
and got done up
trying to be down
give me less than a moment
to say I'm taken
color yourself mistaken to say

I'm anything but nothing
if I am not something of importance to you,
water
80 percent of me

clear,
consistent
every drop necessary
rhythm in every rainstorm I have ever heard
every soft, strong wet wave
crashing at the hard rock of my shoreline
I cannot make you love me
but I will not make you regret

perfect imperfection
intricate simplicity

I wish to be come indigenous
to your land
become the army
loyal only to my country
a proud national
native of my sovereign state
I am in it with you
right down between the letters
in the thick of it, with you
no room to move

even if I wanted to
it would just be to get closer
I am in it
deep, no exit strategy
no choice but to fall further
in which case there is no choice
to begin with

I take a pack of you
slap hard
before I unravel, slide one out from the inside
slip it between waiting lips
ignite, pull,
release.
Feel you warm in my chest
pull,
release
lips press with intensity
pull, release
watch you glow with each drag
pull, slow, slower
baby
you
burn
so
beautiful
release
pull, hold
gently dip your cherry, watch it fall gracefully
release
kiss pull suck
holding firm and soft
“Let go” is not a language I speak
holding you within my fingers like a
surgeon mother
pull, blow
your curves redefine smoke
I lower you
raise you to my face
pull, tug, hold
hold tighter, don't let go
don't leave me
squeeze, pull, squeeze;
done.
Head swimming, brain bathed in bittersweet
euphoria
holding you, I grant you release as I give you to the sky
slide you out again,
and begin.

31

2009-07-20T14:15:00.002-05:00

I promise you that you will claim this armor from my dead body, and no sooner. I dare you to think you could find a chink, because my armor is flawless. I beg God to close this heart, and remove the wait so that I can move. I will not lie and say that love isn't real, but I'm no longer convinced it's elevation, just a diversion. Sugar coated subversion created to cause pause and nothing more. I got tired of buying lies and that's why you don't see me in the store anymore.

I spend my nights in morning of a time when I cherished days. There is no solace in the feel of sun on my skin; even as I breathe, I asphyxiate. Suffocating in the oxygen I waste away in starvation with my belly full. I have sustained injuries from the long term effects of improper emotional allocation, i.e. misreciprocation of affection resulting in an addiction to addition. I will not succumb, never again numb to shallow obligation. Better to die a lonely man man then to take the wrong hand so effective immediately, I hereby tender my resignation to love. This heart is uninhabitable, structurally unsound, so there will no longer be any vacancies.

So to those who love their charity cases; leave me be. Quit looking because honestly, you don't even find me attractive, just cute-code for 'convenient because you are to scared to go for what you really want.' Leave me in the rummage, I need not your empty self-serving attempts to salvage this savage into something you could condescend to like.

I need to adhere to purpose and sever the malignant tumor that is my self pity. I am convinced that anyone who wants in only wants to turn you out-walking away with what they wanted, leaving this house haunted with the ghost of who I thought you were. I don't doubt love, I just rarely see it occur, and I have neither the time or the patience to chase dragons or unicorns, leave the needles in their haystacks, do not wait for me to grab that brass ring whoever you are wherever you are, I will not be waiting or looking but I do wish you well. I'm not saying love isn't heaven, but I will make note that it and hell have the same number of letters. And I should have known better, avoided the representatives, the crescent shaped harbingers, feeding me hope flavored hindrance with a slight hint of deliverance, impossible to hold them responsible as I don't get to be a victim after the first bite. I can't blame them if I accepted the invite, laid back for the long kiss goodnight the left me a dead man walking. So thank you but no thank you, keep walking; what I want isn't waiting in someone else's hand, I bare no hatred towards women and no, I don't want a man. I won't convince you to not love but right now I'm not a fan, what I want I want and don't expect you to understand, your comprehension isn't on my list of demands so please, return to your vessel, pull your anchor, and leave me be, here on my shore.

I can see so very clearly, having pulled the wool away, cognizant of the windmills that I once chose to slay; what dreams I've had have left me, all of them gone to stay, I had set out to write another love poem, and realized I have nothing to say.

30

2009-06-18T15:36:00.001-05:00

We go back like screen 'do's', like rushing home in time to hear Lion-O yell, "HOOOOO!!!" We go back like the first Velcro shoe, like back when back when library dues where all you had to pay. Like fetching ugly metal skates, back when tables had love-meaning both parents and hot plates, when catching that street light meant you were out to late and mama had that whoopin ready right on time. We go back like "Who your people?" Like getting from under those covers Sunday to get up under that steeple and you better keep your mouth shut.
We go back like shirts with gators, when we wanted to be lovers not haters and 'like' was a commitment, 'no' was a death sentence, and 'maybe,' just meant you wanted to keep your options open. Like hopin your folks was cool with you staying over Kenny's but you couldn't take any chances, so you called from his crib and gave his momma the phone. We go back like 'Conjunction Junction, what's your function? Hooking up words and phrases and clauses.' Back when P.E. taught us to fight the powers that b.e., and brothers and sisters had causes
Like joining hands around Virginia trees, when cooties was the worst disease, and chicken pox or the flu meant you had the day off. Meditation was you on your back with your face facing sky and my friends and I pondered the ultimate questions of the universe: why are we here? Could the super friends beat up the devil? What ninja turtle is that cloud shaped like? If I ate while on the toilet, how long would it really take?
Like snickering with my brother an hour after bedtime, knowing full well your mother would bust through that door and administer the proper motivation for a goodnight's rest. And I would do anything to go back in time and make myself realize that my little brother was my best friend, and still is.
When watching Sunday afternoon kung fu theater gave you a hope that bully was gonna catch you on the wrong damn day and get more than lunch money. Back when your woman, your honey, the love of your life didn't even know you existed, and would not until the 11th grade at a house party where she's drunk and already seeing someone and besides, she's 'always seen you as a friend.'
We go back like bad promises; like when we swore with spit or blood soak palms that nothing would tear us apart and go from friends to faces in the hall to phone calls holidays when we see each other's mothers. When we were so close our mothers became each other's mothers, and we evolved from friends to boys to cousins and nothing could break that, not even the sibling crush. We go back like regrets, like when all we wanted from the world was everything we haven't seen yet and only now notice that list never seems to get shorter. We go back like mayo sammiches and sugar water.
Where nothing tripped you out more that Optimus dying, Thriller, "Luke, I am your father" and E.T.'s big ass eyes. Multitasking was being it in freeze tag, ice cream headaches were your jetlag and getting online meant you were in P.E., or getting ready to go to lunch. Myspace, was my corner in four square or tetherball, twitter was something that happened when you sneezed, and facebook, meant you fell asleep in class-again.
If today was not forever tomorrow would be, and right now was all we could see other than the ice cream man from 10 miles away, a pickle, red kool-aid or some sun tea if we were thirsty and if we had to, a the nearest backyard faucet would suffice.
Like when Tasha kept punching you, and neither of you knew why, and Kiesha only played with the boys and no one knew why, James loved double dutch and no one knew why, and we didn't even care, we was all cool. Unity was an unwritten rule and even if we fought, we were down before the moon came up.
Tank tops were not called 'wife beaters' and for that matter most fathers weren't either. Our chat room was the classroom before teacher walked in or the back of the bus; and you could at least carry the cardboard or the boombox if you couldn't break like us- which meant I carried the cardboard or the boombox-either way, you were accepted. Back when we squeezed the day to the last drop, stretched out on cars, rocks and trees that didn't belong to us and savored our reward; a tired orange sun, leaving calming fire and diamond encrusted velvet in its wake, promising and the same if not a better chase tomorrow.
We go back like dreams of a future worth looking forward to; and despite the ambition 11-15 instilled he never got that rocket pack, she never got that flying car, you never kissed Jessica Salter and some of us, we never got 34.
We go back like prom 94', and even though you did good all night, on that last dance Suzette noticed, and you hoped that smile wasn't out of pity. We go back before global villages, where there was a local 'Our Block' in every suburb, hood, ghetto, borough, favela, town and city, when 3rd grade ugly turned into end of 8th grade pretty and blossomed into end of the summertime and 14 fine, and she ain't even hearing you now, because she always knew she was beautiful.
We go back like hand to hand biometrics, like being addicted to Rubik's Cube, Tetris, and each other. We go back 'we not leavin if you not comin', like we all make a stand or we all just keep runnin, and when we're done we find each other. We go back like bonds unbroken, love unborn or unspoken and the days we held tighter once they were gone, we go back because we all need to, because it helps us, movin' on.

29

2009-06-18T15:34:00.001-05:00

run run run run is all I ever seem to do even when I sit still all I ever do is run to run from run around can't stop must keep moving must not fail must not know must not say must not see must not feel must not let her or them must keep moving they are coming it is almost here it will not be found no one will look so keep running lie and tell the others that you are looking for anything other than a place to hide so that no one will know not even me must keep must not let me find me must not know what will happen what can happen don't know what will happen what can happen don't know don't want to find out don't want to know just want to hide but can't even hiding spaces lie you must keep moving take only what you need only what you can carry don't hold on to anything nothing will stay and not if you keep moving thoughts are itchy all a mess everything is such a mess don't know where to start must clean up can't do it right now just keep going no time for anything not nothing keep low in the trees some of them can see you from up high just go just go you'll know when you get there

numb

just get there

slow

just get there

cold

just get there

hide

just get there find a way you move them out of the way keep moving there keep moving they are hunting it is hunting it does not play well it will breath on you, it will know your scent it will swallow you whole you will not even get a chance to cry it only eats quiet little boys none of them scream they all fall apart so well between it's teeth can smile when it eats can only choo choo at little dead boys that are still are still alive they have such sweet souls so delicious so so delicious run little dead boy just keep moving to not stop keep running running get sweeter don't change stay afraid stay afraid of afraid stay sweet for teeth and keep running, don't stop just go just go and don't go where I can find you just keep moving stay under find dark places cold dark place find cold dark wet places wet from not water just keep moving and do not stop for today just hide in the running laugh in the running make them smile in the running never stop moving do what you can to move even when you are still

28

2009-01-10T09:18:00.002-06:00

Every once in a while I can still taste the last word I should have said to you. I try to swallow it since I never got a chance to get it out but it stays stuck in my throat because I choked the first time I wanted to say it
Sometimes
When the moon is full, I say to myself I'm gonna call you up and pardon every thought I held captive and you're gonna come back and it'll be alright but then whatever song I heard that inspired that notion ends, and I then go back to what I'm doing, ashamed to look at the phone failing once again to escape the gravity of self pity.
Or maybe it's more than that.
Maybe I'm not saying as much as I should have because you needed to stay
gone. Maybe instead of assuming this is a storm we could weather this is my subconscious telling me our heart and soul's ties need to be severed.
Maybe you just needed to be on your way, maybe what we had was what we had and honestly, now that I've taken the love goggles off I can see that you were gonna leave anyway. I see now that I should have saw the signs that said you were clearly looking for the one marked 'exit'. I know I did what I did but now that I think about it loving someone is not a jones you could easily shake, so maybe you had more help than you let on.
Maybe you got what you wanted.
Maybe the woman that existed next to me only existed next to me as the embodiment of you having something to prove. Maybe once you got what you needed from me what you saw then wasn't what you need to see to stay with me and our summer turned into the coldest winter ever, prompting you to leave me.
This among all the other reasons I've hypothesized makes sense.
I have to say I pity you. I mean the real you sat bound so long inside of you she was obviously upset at what you settled for, we both knew I wasn't your normal type and
I've heard that before
but we can only blame me for the fact that you stayed. If I wasn't who I am on the inside it wouldn't have convinced you to stay as long as you did, but as I said before, it wasn't really love that kept you home those nights. I have to say that the only thing worse than being paranoid is staying paranoid though there is a sweet glee in being right. Still, there are some nights where I miss our warm denial, as opposed to the cold truth. Then again that's why I have a jacket. Because when it gets down to it, I would rather stay by myself, then love alone, standing next to you.

27

2009-01-10T09:17:00.003-06:00

I live my life from
paycheck
to
paycheck
and in exchange for services
rendered
I get the next day
which means
I'm
barely
able
to pay the
bills
and no matter how many tomorrows I get
they go so
fast
that
before the check comes the money's spent
and all I got to show for it
is a kitchen drawer full of yesterdays that I can do nothing with.
I've
applied for assistance but I only get help sporadically which prompts
me to stop
asking.
I give up waiting to saved by someone who
breathes
and bleeds
and
fails
just like me; gave up on looking for someone
else's light to guide me out, never been one for waiting anyway.
I
decided that since I'm on borrowed time it's best I hurry up and live
this life now before someone comes back around asking for the money. I
need to act like the money's here instead of writing a check I can't be
sure I can cash because I'm still sore from the last time I found out I
was wrong.
From now on all bets are off, and nothing is anything
anymore but if you need to know anything about me, know this: I come
from a place of not
many
but
few
I come from a place of no better than
you,
and that was the
last
part of this poem that rhymes.
I will no
longer write to recreate what you see
when you do take notice
because
sometimes even when I ask you and you tell me
I
don't
know
what
you're talking about.
I
will spend my life from this moment in prison behind blue bars in a white cell
receiving a temporary pardon or
better yet
some time in the yard every
time I push out a real piece; when I give you some soul food
as opposed
to
knee jerk chicken.
From now on I am the 3rd word in a sentence of
sixteen and I care not if you forget me so long as you don't let the
thought perish. I will give a damn and keep some on me in case you need
one. If I find out I know more than you then
I
will
see
to
it
that we are on
even keel before our time together is done.
I will quit
waiting for
someone to love me because when you think about it, if you don't love
you enough to feel good about being alone then
you are cheating on
yourself with
everyone
you
think
you're giving your heart to,
and I for
one am tired of being an adulterer.
I will live my days as a slave to
the idea of my own freedom, wearing the whelps on my back with pride.

So if you need to know anything about me look at yourself, there is
some of me in all of you, and vice versa. I will pay what I owe, for
what I have I done, and at the end of day when my time is nigh I'm
checking out in cash, not credit. I'm not promising anything other than
nothing and five seconds from now because that is all I have. Don't ask
me about tomorrow, or further. I got no future. I've already lived it.
Out of all I've got left I've got the past, and Lord knows I have
enough trouble letting that go. Out of all I have left, what I have,
what I know I have is today; today works.

26

2008-12-17T16:38:00.000-06:00

Do not forget those who remember you.
There are people in your life
who love you for who you are
not
what you do so
please,
do not forget those who remember you.
Fairweather friends are cool
when the suns out,
but the rain will
dwindle
their
number
down
to
a
few
and though they may return
when there's money to burn,
when the spotlight's back on
you
those who care
won't care
what you have to spare
because
to them
it's been a
pleasure
to have known you.
Believe me it's not who
says they love you
but who has
shown you
so I reiterate,
do not
forget
those who remember you.
I know we live in a world where love is a precious commodity,
where we turn away he and she,
hope costs too much, but the dissapointment's free,
and kindness is hard to come by or understand
but
I also know that when I was
at my
lowest point
there was always someone
reaching
down
for
my
hand,
so in appreciation of those who have helped to spare me from a worser fate
I can do less than reciprocate,
believe
you
me
no one who rushes to my aid deserves to wait.
I am thankful for all the people God has sent to me
on purpose,
never accidentally and I realize
that no matter how big your wings are
you
are
nothing
without the wind.
You see one of the greatests gifts I've ever received is favor.
Every ounce of benevolence I've received I truly savor and therefore
I love my neighbor
and
respond in kind everytime, I even pay it forward when I can when I can afford it;
not only do I let a good deed go unpunished, I reward it.
So if I have any say so over the way history records it
let it be made clear-
those who have done for me
in the spirit of sincerity
will never leave my memory.
So do remember those who refuse to forget you.
I am not asking that you do anything above your means
but what I mean
is that if
God's will be done
it shouldn't be so hard for us to be there for one another.
You being my sister
You being my brother
I suggest
we step
outside ourselves
and love like he intended; we have
nothing else to lose
but each other.

25

2008-03-06T11:40:00.000-06:00

The Man in My Basement by Walter Mosley

A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest Gaines

Song Of Solomon by Toni Morrison

The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison

The Souls Of Black Folk by W.E.B. DuBois

The Miseducation Of The Negro by Carter G. Woodson

What order would you read these in?

24

2008-03-06T10:47:00.001-06:00

Sweetie baby I’m sorry

I know you’re busy I

I do not mean to bother you

I mean I know you’re

gone I know

you got on that plane

and

I know you got home safe

because I prayed you got home safe

and I know you’re on your way to work

I know you’re probably at work

working hard you

always work so hard

sweetie baby I know you’re away from me

I know you’re not here

because I don’t see you

and I tried not to look

but I did

and I tried not to cry but I did

and I know you working I know you’re busy

busy being away

busy being you being mine

I don’t want to bother you

I don’t want to interrupt you

I do not mean to take up to much of your time

I know you’re gone

I know you’re away

sweetie baby I am sorry

I am so

very

very sorry

sweetie babie but I just wanted to tell you you’re still here

23

2007-11-05T14:49:00.000-06:00

I name my three favorite

artists; God, your mother,

and your father.

I name my favorite

food; I love you, marinated

in just your voice.

I name my favorite

dessert; you…yeah pretty much

you, yeah…yeah…yeah.

I scream, you scream, we….

OK mainly I scream, yeah

but so what SHUDDUP!

I beg me permission

to say it aloud; that I

want to let you.

I wake, seeing you

in my t-shirt. Wow. No wonder

this one is tight.

I lived for your smile.

You died each day to ensure

That is all I saw.

The child is the father

of the man. I am truly

a bastard.

I return to my

hometown; Unwanted,

population me.

You got pretty on

yo face; I would give you a

towel but fuck that.

22

2007-11-05T14:48:00.000-06:00

I got dreams that say they missed you. They each say that they tearfully remember the day that my imagination sent you away and when asked why it said and I quote “for the simple fact that I cannot do better than that.” And my heart stopped you on the way out saying here, just in case you’re gone awhile here’s a key to let yourself back in and my soul gave you a picture of itself just so you’d know me when you saw me again and then, both of them cupped their hands to your ears and said “listen,” so that you above all others could here me, above my voice.

But now that you are here and life has had it’s way and done away with me, I have become emotionally inarticulate so, how do I tell you that the night we met is the day I made pecan praline my favorite, the first day I rode my bike off the block and found a different way back home and skated all the way back to my father without him having to catch me was the last day of may and every surprise birthday I held for myself was the moment I realized I would die for something the first time I made someone laugh, the very first time I figured out what words were, the first time I figured out what words could do so of course you became my first poem. That time I jumped in the pool went all the way to the bottom and realized I can’t swim every Saturday morning I woke the earliest to grab the remote and thereby achieve total supremacy, bathroom break be damned the moment I realized I would be better off alone if I couldn’t find anyone like you the day I found anyone like you the day I found out you existed, the first time we met before night we really met and I shudder to think that I almost missed it the first time I tried, the first time I lied for the right reason the time I held you while you slept and you allowed me the honor of letting my hand sojourn across your belly. Every time I woke up pissed because I had to get up and go to school and realized-it’s Saturday that you felt like the prayer before and after the prognosis. Like not asking for permission, like receiving permission. Like a blessing from God, like when I hear the Lord say he loves me in your silent smile like the reason you’re supposed to rage when the light dies like the way you draw your sword from your soul and slice through the skin of my inhibition just so that I could bleed out my regrets, you are the first time I fumbled around the back of mind, found the switch and turned on my imagination. You are the first time I touched my tongue to a 9-volt battery and then the second time because that shit felt good for the strangest reason. Like my bike the first day with out training wheels you taught me to push and help me learn balance. You’re the first time I got away with it, and if you were here to let it slip to your ear I would tell you are the first person I ever want to tell and your voice is the last thing I want to hear I want to bestow upon you my gratitude for this glow along with this odd grin I’ve been told I now possess that sneaks across my face when I’m looking. I remember loving you as black licorice; and even then you were sweet, bold and so intoxicating that my very tongue just wanted to hold you forever, and it was then I learned to appreciate you for who you are, though even now I am a novice, willing to learn. I remember you being 3 am on every December 25^th because technically that’s Christmas, you became the anticipation between each gift as well as over the next 364 days. I remember making sure my sister and brother got to bed, watching them sleep, falling in love with their peace and I knew then I would do anything to protect and preserve yours. I would wait for my mother to come home late from work, fix her a plate and as I watched her eat in peace I knew what it meant to be devoted to you. I listened to her girlfriends cry on her shoulder and swore I’d never become the man they spoke of though I do now acknowledge my potential. I remember the time my Alabama born father was so upset with me he didn’t even want to beat me, and it was in his stare I learned I would do anything for your forgiveness. I remember him always telling me to take care of my mother after the divorce, and I then learned that I only wanted you safe, and happy, even if it is not with me though I pray to God you do not leave. You were the first time I heard a good guitar riff and felt it in the back of my neck. I remember hearing the first song I ever truly loved and discovered what it would be like for you to hold me. I only aspire to offer you my name because every sweet vowel and consonant of yours is set in between the letters of my DNA so I could only hope for us to intertwine and become our own double helix and become the genetic blueprint for a love supreme. And still I ponder, on how to tell you that they told me that if I had to live without you yellow and blue would refuse to make green, that everything about you is love; and all the warm spaces in between, that flowers want to place you gently in their hair that if beauty was a place it would not be so without your soul there, that you have reminded me with your touch that I have skin that my heart and soul are happy you are back again I asked myself how do I begin when I realized-There are no words.

21

2007-10-18T06:50:00.000-05:00

Those of you who know me know that I have been through a lot of changes lately, both good and bad. Though each of these changes have affected me in different ways, each of them have served to help if not force me to take a long hard look at myself, and what I am seeing, what I am discovering is this: I am not the person I thought I was, I am not the person I try to be, and I am not the person I was hoping to become. It can very much be said that I myself have been a lie. It has been said that good intentions pave the way to hell, and with all things considered I have been laying down quite a long road over the past few years. I haven’t sat down to think about why I really do things. I’ve done and said things with one intention with things only winding up the opposite, with someone else hurt in the process. I’ve appeared less than honest to some, fake to others and I honestly couldn’t blame them or anyone else for thinking me a villain. What I do know is that I am not good with people, or to them, despite what I have in mind. To any of you who read this, if I have represented myself as anything I am not, said anything and did the other or hurt you in anyway period, I apologize. For the moment that’s all I can say.

20

2007-09-27T11:00:00.001-05:00

2006

Hoping my arms will grow back. Knowing that not one of my stairs have ever been crystal. Wondering if real love is something you have to be genetically predispositioned to receive while I wait for someone with arms as long as mine. Feeling like an echo with nowhere to return to. Wishing I’d feel something the next time someone touched me. Feeling the tether tighten and fray. Looking for a back road to sanity. Wishing I could make my insecurities feel bad enough about themselves to leave, and then charge my demons rent. Having an affair with self hatred, with love sitting up late by the phone at home. Refusing to admit I need, afraid to cut myself for fear I’ll find I don’t bleed. Going to sleep wondering why I did, waking up wondering if I should have. It’s 2:30 in the morning, I’m sweating with the thermostat on 70 trying to get this poem out of me. I feel like my soul is on empty, I got 6 dollars in my pocket, it’s 15 miles to the nearest gas station and everyone wants the damn AC on. And all I want to do aside from reaching you is live from birth to death from breath to breath with nothing more than my children and all the love my Lord has left. Ignoring the answer. Trusting only in my inability to do so. Aspiring to deserve the right to die. Knowing my children are my heroes, as they are not just my blood but the oxygen within it. Blurring the lines between friends and family. Knowing hunger is a blessing. Listening to music to avoid to the cacophony of silence. Refinancing my faith and saving to get my pride out of the pawn shop. Wondering if it’s symbolic that I’m O+ and living my life like a 32 one year old poem is a little of what it’s like to be me. And this is not the part where I ask you for help, and this is not the part where I tell you it gets better, because it doesn’t. This is where I tell you that if you’re anything like me that no, it’s not just you. This is where I tell you that the walls will not come down even though the foundation cracks and the floor gives way. This is where I tell you the truth: that if you are anything like me that you sit in the dark cold and alone, and even if no one comes for you, that is fine; you can find your own way home.

19

2007-03-28T09:10:00.000-05:00

Things I probably shouldn't tell you

Chickens are jealous of us because we have lips, and they don't. They often dream of smacking thier beaks or smiling, and they grow increasingly bitter every time they try and fail.

They get angry when they see us use straws.

They can't whistle; and this often makes the male chickens upset because they can't flirt with the females, and one cannot deny that in matters concerning fliration one cannot replace a sly come hither whistle with a buh-KAWK. They cannot kiss each other on the cheek because they only wind up stabbing each other and when the try a frontal approach it only results in a clicking sound that sounds like morse code for 'DAMMIT why don't we have lips' and they just stop and walk away, frustrated.

They get mad because they can't use cups.

They envy our opposable thumbs and the fact that we have other fingers as well. In fact, every time you walk by a chicken and it ruffles its feathers it is actually trying to flick you off.

My right ear can talk. He tries to talk to other ears but he doesn't know they can't speak (I've tried to tell him but he won't listen to me) and when they don't he gets angry and says stuff like 'HEY! Hey I know you hear me!' He will often play jokes on me, like calling my name in a different voice so I don't recognize it, and when I turn around I don't see anyone and then he laughs, and it then and only then, that I know it is him.

Sometimes I think that if my top lip was bigger than my bottom lip I would look sad, or confused.

18

2007-03-01T17:59:00.001-06:00

I did right. Raised him from boy to man, sent him out into the world to become what he became and everyone tells me I did right. Listen to him sing in his room, at church, heard his voice and figured to myself I did right. Held him in my arms the day he was birthed, smiled as tears fell down my face onto him and after praising my God I figured I did right; watched him, watched him sleep peaceful, and went to bed, thinking I did right. Listen to that “music” he made for years while he made himself a false idol to them women who knew damn well they needed Jesus more than they needed my son, who sold them good times instead of sewing seeds of salvation into those lost souls until he became one of them and I shake my head, thinking I did right to listen to his momma and let my dope addict rock star child come home and tell me I’m wrong for laying my hand down upon the woman I married like he could even think he loves her more than I do, thinkin nothin as he shook his finger at me, stompin at me with that dope in his blood, an madness in his eyes I did not give him and a gun in my hand.

Flash.

I’m sitting in a courtroom. Don’t know how I got here. I’m cold, wearin an orange jumpsuit I don’t remember putting on. Everyone’s looking at me, some cryin, some of em yellin, and the mother of my child is looking at the floor and I’m remembering; and I’m hoping, and I’m praying, that I did right.

17

2007-02-28T15:07:00.000-06:00

He wore a blue shirt, jeans and shoes; he smelled like stone and time. If a man could be measured, he’d be my daddy’s height and width. I remember him taking pills his doctor made him take and joking about the needle he had to stick in his belly, making us laugh while death sat outside in the cold, cursing my father’s defiance. I stared at this man I still see as a giant in my heart (even though I weigh more than him now) this man I’ve held as the standard, this human I cite as the reason I can love as a man, that I can live as a man. I look at my father, and within my smile I thank him for the compassion, the love and the providence he instilled in this child he never had to give his name when I got here, and I am grateful that love in itself makes you family.

16

2006-12-13T17:05:00.000-06:00

For my babies
For God giving me big ears
For waking up
For everyone else that was able to wake up
For being closer to being the writer I want to be
For the evolution
For Wednesdays
For finding and being found
For being able to see
For hugs
For knowing love in more than theory
For f(amily)riends
For watching them on that stage
For knowing I got soul
For the head nod (head up for cats my age and up, down for ol skoolers)
For Ol Skool (Jam, rockberry, rockberry, rockberry, Jam, rockberry, rockberry, rockberry…..)
For a good song stuck in your head (Jam, rockberry, rockberry, rockberry, Jam, rockberry, rockberry, rockberry…..)
For the empty
For faith
For recognizing the aesthetic
For the hold button
For the crack that gets a little bigger each day
For speaking my mind
For holding my tongue
For peace
For tomorrow; or at least the time I had today
For Worcester Sauce

15a

2006-12-13T11:04:00.000-06:00

It is unchangeable, but it can change you. It can teach you or trap you. All who reside there are immortal,but you can never go there.

15

2006-12-12T09:01:00.000-06:00

She said that I run from myself. That I give myself too much to do to avoid dealing with myself and that I’m afraid if I actually stop, I will have to sit still and deal with myself. And it’s true; I mean, it wasn’t a revelation in the sense that I wasn’t aware of it on at least on at least a subconscious level but it was the first time anyone had flat out said it. I’ve said before busy can be another word for lazy, more to the point if you give yourself too much to do you’ll never have anything to do. And it’s true; I have a tendency to run from myself, to put a lot on my plate so I won’t see my face in its reflection, I even leave the bathroom after a shower at times when I notice the steam fade from the mirror. And it got worse when my mother died. I couldn’t sit still or stop talking or listen to music loud enough or tell enough jokes to avoid what I couldn’t face.

I walked in the room, and they closed the door behind me. I see my mother, laying in the hospice bed, I hear breathing, I hear the machines, I don’t hear anything, like the slow pop right before a tornado hits. I walk over to the side of her bed and sit down next to her. I see the primary source of all my love and strength with tubes in and out, an oxygen mask on her face with machines beeping and buzzing in the background. I see her eyes closed, I see her mouth just barely open pushing out a shallow victory with each breath through the mask and I am afraid. I pick up a hand smaller than I’m used to and I rub my palm over knuckles coated in soft skin and say “I’m here, momma, I’m here.” She moves her head over to see who spoke and she opens her eyes and she sees me and her eyes roll up slowly and I walked in the room, and they closed the door behind me. I see my mother, laying in the hospice bed, I hear breathing, I hear the machines, I don’t hear anything, like the slow pop right before a tornado hits. I walk over to the side of her bed and sit down next to her. I see the primary source of all my love and strength with tubes in and out, an oxygen mask on her face with machines beeping and buzzing in the background. I see her eyes closed, I see her mouth just barely open pushing out a shallow victory with each breath through the mask and I am afraid. I pick up a hand smaller than I’m used to and I rub my palm over knuckles coated in soft skin and say “I’m here, momma, I’m here.” She moves her head over to see who spoke and she opens her eyes and she sees me and her eyes roll up slowly and I walked in the room, and they closed the door behind me. I see my mother, laying in the hospice bed, I hear breathing, I hear the machines, I don’t hear anything, like the slow pop right before a tornado hits. I walk over to the side of her bed and sit down next to her. I see the primary source of all my love and strength with tubes in and out, an oxygen mask on her face with machines beeping and buzzing in the background. I see her eyes closed, I see her mouth just barely open pushing out a shallow victory with each breath through the mask and I am afraid. I pick up a hand smaller than I’m used to and I rub my palm over knuckles coated in soft skin and say “I’m here, momma, I’m here.” She moves her head over to see who spoke and she opens her eyes and she sees me and her eyes roll up slowly and

Repeat since 2003

What I’ve only told a handful of people up to this point is that I am not my mother’s child by birth. Her biological son was away in Iraq and was being rushed back as fast as he could be carried. He was her only child and these being her last moments I assume she had wanted him there, she fought temperatures above one hundred, heart beating like crazy the entire day with the nurse confuse as to why she was even holding on; she was waiting for son. But she didn’t see him; she saw me. She saw me, and she died. I carried that for years now, (still carry if I’m being honest) never telling anyone that I killed my mother. My dad told me after I finally told him that her and her born son had grown further apart in the last years, and she had gotten closer to me, but it was as pointless to hear him say it as it is to type it now. One of the first and few people to love me like I didn’t have some kind of mark over me and she died the minute she saw me..

She said I run, and I do.

It’s amazing what catches up with you when stop.

She was waiting for her son. But she didn’t see her son, she saw me. She saw me and she died.

I don’t like being touched.
I don’t like that I don’t like being touched.
I don’t like sitting away

No matter who wants you the only one that matters is the one who wants in, and to stay and for the right reason. Everyone else may as well take what they want and go; you know what you want, I know what you want, so please don’t bother assuming you’ve got the heart to be what I need; just leave the money on the dresser, and leave quietly without the insult of a thank you.

I still hate my birth mother. I hug her, and I smile at her, but God forgive me I hate her. I hate for loving me like an employee and setting a standard, I hate her for walking in and not saying anything as she walked into the next room. I don’t want her near my children. I hate that I may never be able to say any of this to her with exploding. I hate her for letting every man who hit it hit us. I hate her because I love her that much despite it all, even if she did worse.

I can’t make my mind quiet sometimes.

I wish I could let it all out, but I can’t, or I won’t, pick one.

14

2006-11-28T15:02:00.000-06:00

Question:

Why do you

Love
Hate
Like

Love poetry?

13

2006-10-18T14:14:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting on the bus when a man 2 times my size and height gets on the bus. I gave a customary and mind you painless headnod upon eye contact only to recieve an empty, pseudomenacing glare as he walked by to his seat. I ignored him, preoccupied with my own thoughts sitting heavy on my head as the bus moved forward. My issues weighed on me to the point where I decided to pray, first for everyone one I know, then me. I decided to say the serenity prayer for good measure when halfway through it I am interrupted by an unapologetically loud and obnoxiously booming voice bellow-

"WE HEAR YOU!!!!"

"WE ALL HERE YOU!!!!!!!"

"I AM THE GREAT COMMUNICATOR!!!!!!!!!"

"RONALD REAGAN TRIED TO SHUT ME DOWN-YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM, YEAH........"

I turned my head (better judgement be damned) to see that me x2 guy sitting just one seat away no longer looking at me mean but with a 'looking down upon thou from on high' glare. I then assumed he in was the voice I heard, and that his belief that he was in fact 'The Great Communicator ' was somehow attributed in part to the huge, half of a golf ball sized bump on his head. I then turned back around, and continue looking out of the front window of the bus as it continued home.

I have to get a car.

soon.

12

2006-08-19T15:17:00.000-05:00

I'm looking at him now. He's watching television. He loves television, as much the other kids love playing outside, which is why I like him right now. He won't know what hit him, he won't even know what to do with this, because I will be amazing , I will be the best he ever had, and he will love me. I will watch him like I am paid to. I will watch him like prey, until I am ready. I will be amazing, I will be the best he ever had, and he will love me. I'll make cereal for him, he loves cereal. I'll call him to eat. I'll watch him. I will study as I stare, because I need to be sure. I will be his first, and I need to be sure. I will stare at him and he will feel my eyes as he eats. It will make him nervous, it will be the first time a woman has ever looked at him like that. Like I want him. Like I want him right now. He feels my eyes as he eats, and he eats slower in fear. He has no idea. I will be amazing, and he will love me. I will ask him if he likes me. He says yes, but he doesn't understand; so I will ask him again. I will look him in the eyes with all the lust within me until I see the innocence within him shake in fear of its inevitable death and I will ask him again. He says yes, because he has to, because he is scared not to. I tell him to touch my breast, because I know he wants to. He is afraid, he is excited in a way that scares him. He is frozen. His fear excites and disgusts me. He starts to say no. I slap him and he cries; I tell him to stop, because I can't do anything with his tears. I tell him again. His hand reaches under my shirt searching; his fingers pause, finding. They pause at the touch and his mind is blown. I tell him to touch it, not just sit there. I am a woman, and he is a boy; he should be honored to lay his hands on me so I demand he do so. He shakes and obeys, shivering as he squeezes. He is excited and scared, he is scared that he is this kind of excited, he has never known this. I tell him to place his mouth on me. He pauses again, with his eyes asking, begging no with my eyes promising a slap for his disobedience. I am a

16 year old woman,

and he is an

8 year old boy,

he should be honored.

I pull my shirt up, he pulls his hand away. I pull his mouth to me. He does what I need him to, and he is mine, for once a male child's lips touch the breasts of another female besides his mother he no longer belongs to her. I make him stop. I tell him to lock all the doors. I don't worry about him running away, he won't think of it, he can't think. He is mine now, beyond thought. I call him to the den where I wait for him below hide-a-bed sheets with clothes aside, and he sees me, all of me. I tell him to take off his clothes but he is already naked, stripped of pride, of innocence. I tell him to take off his clothes, and he does so. He is mine now, below thought. The little boy, the human being he was will die today, and whether or not he ever sees me again he will feel my stare in the eyes of every woman he ever knows, much less the ones who love him. He is less than human now, barely what I want, and I don't care, I can't-only I want him for a few minutes, and he will be mine forever. I will be amazing , I will be the best he ever had, and he will love me.

--
Absit Invidae

11

2006-05-05T01:42:00.000-05:00

Sometime in August

I honestly have no idea what I’m doing. Ever since the separation, which I can’t wait wait to blossom in to a divorce I feel like I’ve been scrambling to catch up with life altogether. I’ve been in my apartment for about 4 months now, and it still looks like I just moved in. I barely clean up, and I honestly don’t want to. I feel like I’ve been taking hits everyday and everyday I wake up, leave, and make it back home through the door is an accomplishment on grand scale. Some days I can’t even summon up the strength to think, and it’s all I can do to even breathe. I feel like if it wasn’t for my kids and my poetry and my woman I’d be dead by now and in more ways than one. I honestly just don’t care anymore and now there are fewer and fewer things giving me reason to. It feels like anything I do above scraping the barrel is a headache. I think I fear success on any real level, because it scares me to think I could fall even further should I fail. I think about success and I don’t think about how far up I could go, but how far down I could fall should I fail. So I stay mid level, because I get just enough to gratify myself and then I sink back down because there are fewer things safer than mediocrity, or as comfortable as an excuse. I am a bona fide Class A failure. A bum just got on the bus, drunk and well within his stupor, lost if you ask him what he’ll do in the next 3 minutes and God forgive me but I envy him. My whole life I’ve never felt like I could be anything, so I don’t know whether to call this a slump or a high point.

10

2006-05-05T01:07:00.000-05:00

7-6-05

She told me when she was here that if I didn’t love myself I couldn’t love anyone else. I had heard it before, but it seemed to make sense the way she said it. At the same time it shook me, because I know how I feel about her and while I do want to love myself I don’t know how. I feel good about myself at times, but I don’t know if I’ve ever loved myself. I wouldn’t know where to start and it’s because of that I feel I give the impression that I am unsure of myself (because, shit, I am) and that’s why I’ve attracted most of the women I’ve been with. The reason most of my relationships never work is because they weren’t meant to. Almost every woman I meet runs into me at a time where they’ve separated, divorced or broken up with their man at the time. What happens is that they still very much love the dude they were with before; they just can’t suffer or tolerate their ways. Then they meet me, and I won’t be Mr. Right; just Mr. Right now.

5-1-06

The majority of the women I’ve been with have never seen me as their mate, but rather an accessory item, which means you’re the lamp that goes nice with the couch, praying she doesn’t decide to go with a new living room set one day. I attribute this to my insecurities. I think I’ve had opportunities to embrace real love but instead chose to settle just to play it safe with woman I knew deep down couldn’t give me what I needed-what I in turn gave them. I figured it was safer that way-don’t ask. It’s to the point I question any woman with any sincere interest in me to the slightest, for fear of the one that could actually be what I need.

9

2006-05-05T01:06:00.000-05:00

Wednesday.

May 3rd, 2006.

Wow.

8

2006-03-30T10:46:00.000-06:00

I laugh at

and

pity those who claim they want love but don't want to do what it takes to qualify, those absent the day they taught fortitude and I'm sorry if that sounded rude

but

want

more.

I require a woman who could actually fathom the possibility of mentally, spiritually, emotionally and yes I'll say it physically loving me unequivocally in reciprocity, without insecurity, jealousy or foreshadowing on how good or bad I'm going to be, but by cherishing

the

you and me

and nourishing what we have presently. And while my heart swells it waits patiently for the she that will both quell and stoke my passion,and together we could fashion something pure. Something mature we could let mature into something palatable, forged by two souls who were more than compatible, or magical. And as we acquiesce we undress of the cloth of our idiosycracies, sharing uncontrolled smiles, ocular conversations, and private follies; loving both out loud and melancholy. So don't ask for what you aren't prepared to give, for to receive you must be able to provide, to take the bitter with the sweet of love, its above and underside.

7

2006-03-09T14:35:00.000-06:00

4:48 on the 320 north

I’m looking at two little girls trying to look, walk and talk like they are in their twenties, and I’m sad because they won’t realize until
1 STD
2 or 3 kids and
4 or 5 abusive boyfriends into their thirties that they should have cherished thirteen.

I’m seeing a couple walking together at an even pace holding hands with neither pulling the other, signifying to me that they are in love.

I’m sitting across from a kid rattling away on his phone about everyone and everything in his world, loud enough for everyone and everything in his world to hear him without it. He complains that his computer lab teacher doesn’t like him much and he has no idea why.

I have no idea why he has no idea why.

There is a black girl, in her early teens I think, sitting behind me reading a real book, and I am glad if not proud of this child that isn’t even mine.

I am pondering the point of long distance relationships.

Transfer to the 300

Transit center

I am listening to a handful of younger brothers exchange vulgarities with each other, sucking hard at the tit of bravado as they feign masculinity, adopting a brutish indifference they will wear like a warm insecurity blanket with the word ‘machismo’ written across the front. I watch them with a pity and a fervent hope my own son will never suffer from the peter pan syndrome. I call my 3 year old little girl who tells me she is having fun with her aunt and tells someone in the background she is on the phone with her daddy. She returns, tell me she loves me, and hangs up. I love our converstations.

Boarding the 1L north

I laugh at the man cursing and slapping at the side of the bus as it pulls off and leaves him after it had been laying over for 10 minutes. He makes me wonder when it’ll finally be cool to pay attention. I get a good feeling from the laughter shared by the two brothers at the front of the bus. Being a man means not worrying about what will or won’t make you look like one.

Transfer Center

The schedule sign at the transfer center tells me I have about twenty minutes to walk the store and walk around. I pick up some instant coffee and head to the express line. A woman walking behind me calls for her son to hurry up in a frustrated tone as he scurries up as fast as a 6-8 year old boy could. “Come on stupid!” she says. “Do you want me to punch you?” I had a sudden urge to call the woman who gave birth to me and punch her through the phone, giving her a dose of the medicine she found it so easy to administer. I realize that my addiction to anger stems from a failure to get angry when I should have, the lack of empowerment birthed from never being able speak my mind as a child without the applause of one hand clapping against my face or a fist in my chest, throat or back. It’s made regression apart of my nature. I have to say that if there is a chicken soup for the soul, malevolence is the cotton candy. My sister called, telling me our youngest sister just had her first child, and that my 2nd nephew may be autistic, which wouldn’t be impossible for a child related to us.

243 north to home

I get on the bus to go home and recognize a black man and a white woman, a couple I normally see on my work in the morning, together with their kids. The boy is listening attentively as dad explains the sights we pass. The daughter sits next to her mother, a confidence on her little face she could have only received from being a loved child, like her brother. The father recognizes me, and asks if I want to sit. Before I can respond, he motions to his wife, asking that she place her little girl in her lap so that I could sit down. She looks up and recognizes me, and pulls her little girl to her so I could sit down, and I feel as welcome as I would were I guest in their home. Her daughter sits content in her lap while mommy embraces her baby with an evident, enveloping, effortless love
that only mommy can give while she lays a soft kiss that says ‘forever’ on the back of her head. I show them a picture of my daughter and we talk about our children, and agree that we hope they don’t grow any faster than they need to. I can tell that their children mean the world to them, and for that matter they mean just as much to each other. Love, is its own race. They get off at their stop, trade goodbyes with me and head home. There’s just a handful of us now, including a married couple and their two little girls. The father sits with one girl on his right, the other on his left, both close to him and holding his arms as they looked out the window with daddy as their tour guide. Momma sat in the seat in front of them, content that they are headed home, and that her two daughters just behind her were safe with the first man they would ever love. The oldest girl blows me kisses just like my daughter does, and I wonder if it’s because she knows I miss mine. Maybe she knows a sad daddy when she sees one. I show pictures of my little girl and the father and I nod in kindred unison.

I believe that there are no greater titles a man will hold in his lifetime other than son, brother, friend, husband and Daddy.

The older woman sitting across from me sits with a small smile on her face, not a nervous smile, just a smile. It’s as if she knows something we don’t. I wonder if I’ll ever be old enough to know what she knows. I get off at my stop, waving goodbye to the family as the little girl sends me off with a few more kisses. I walk down a cold dark street alone, with just a few lights along the way, hoping it’s something I never have to get used to. As I come around the corner I see my friends are there, which says I may not have to. I walk in to warm welcomes and words that say under the surface that we are each grateful for each other, and call each other friends as if to say family.

Love, is its own race.

6

2006-02-06T17:58:00.000-06:00

Ask me to speak.

Because a noble heart never forces itself forward

and I love it you ask me anyway.

Ask me to speak

because even though you can't seem to find the right

words

great minds think alike

and I am never in short supply.

Ask me to speak

because there is nothing like the connection

we create when we conversate

and while others act like it's never the right time of the

week to speak

I can

and will

do so happily

and if you agree we have a problem with apathy

clap with me-

see.

See

even though change would make so much sense

we seem to think it

takes to much

to give a damn

and its

harder to love but

easier to hate

easier to destroy

than it is to create

and where we could easily take responsibility

master our destiny

we want to give in to the wind and

call it fate

and want to do something

when it's too late.

And when it all falls down,

when things fall apart

we want to argue after the fact

and pontificate

when all we had to do from the start

all we need to do now

is kill the debate

eliminate the hate

and resonate.

Ask me to speak

because not enough of us say something

and to much of nothing is said

and some of us never say anything

and it's too late to hear them because they're dead.

Ask me to speak

and I will tell you as long as you are saying

something, no one can say you talk to much, and

when they ask you your opinion,

you do no less than fill their cup, and

when they accuse you of running your mouth you tell them to catch up.

Ask me to speak

because I know you want to

and though a lot of us ought to

a lot of us were raise not to

by parents or people who

rear or breed you in fear

and either don't care or

realize what they've taught you.

And I haven't lived your life, I am not you,

but if you are

here,

you got through because

you fought through

so when you feel like the stress has got you

get it off your chest

and if you can't find the words, I'll spot you.

I mean I don't know you to lay a hand on you

but I want to touch you

I need to reach you

and though my words may not mean much

I need you to know

I bleed for you

I slit my soul and pour it on to paper

and read to you

because I need for you

to understand

you can't afford

to keep it stored

to ignore what I've implored,

and I shouldn't

have to make the demand.

5

2005-12-08T12:44:00.000-06:00

rice

ramen

cereal

milk

stop

chicken

bread

peanut butter

think

jelly

breathe

bologna

admit it happened

juice

sugar

let it go

koolaid

honey

lemon juice

write it down

bananas

yogurt

apples

oranges

burritoes

make peace with yourself

flour tortillas

picante sauce

bell peppers

tomatoes

try to remember the last time you dreamed while you slept

cheese

sleep

shredded cheese

wake up

chicken

frozen pizza

eggs

lettuce

become uncomfortable with excuses, especially yours

whiting fish

curry powder

broccoli

soup

try to see if recognize the person in the mirror

chips

ranch dressing

Italian dressing

try to find a reckoning with that person

ice cream

coffee dark

espresso

maraschino cherries

Worcestershire sauce

mushroom

chili

juice

try, period

cabbage

pistachios

grapes

paprika

pepper

forgive yourself for being born

tell your father you love him

dried garlic

forgive your birth mother for not being one

onions

biscuits

flour

spaghetti

spaghetti sauce

honor your real mother

vienna sausages

tea

flavored syrup for coffee

macaroni

let the 8 year old boy go because your 7 year old son needs you

sorbet

kiss your children

gum

canned pineapples

pray for your children

capers

croissants

thank God for your children

bagels

cream cheese

crackers

tomato juice

talk to God

cottage cheese

raisins

peaches

banana peppers

vanilla wafers

stand up for yourself (and say something)

beef stew

sit down with yourself (and say something)

onion dip

cheese dip

feel better than you do about yourself right now

fettucini

angel hair pasta

waffles

make sure no one ever feels the way you do about yourself right now

trail mix

don't settle for less than you give unless the other person's trying

popcorn

don't manufacture people

olive oil

repair instead of rebuilding yourself

green bean

fail and

mustard

ketchup

relish

hot dogs

the lesson

pepperoni

live

muffin mix

acknowledge the fact that you'll die one day

cornbead mix

try to do as much as you can to make up for the fact that you'll eventually die one day

cheesecake mix

earn the right to die

jello

try not to wish death upon others

pretzels

try not to wish you were dead

cashews

pity those who would assume they could do or say worse about you

than you can

pistachios

laugh

spinach

cry

apple butter

hope

cous cous

push

soysauce

trust

peas

change without changing

oatmeal

get angry

hamburger meat

calm down

salsa

resolve

cinnamon

justify your existence on this earth to no one

brown sugar

listen to your own voice and love it

talapia

finish your poems

ceasar salad

spinach dip

ravioli

4

2005-12-04T23:38:00.000-06:00

11/14/05 9:38pm.

Between the ages 7&8 I smoked marijuana, drank, received the many in a long line of pointless beatings from any number of the hundreds of relatives living in my house after my father had to leave for Germany. I was made to have sex various times 2 people in the house, one a family member. Everything between age 7 and now has felt like a blur, other than the birth of my children, the moment my ex wife leaned away from me when I kissed her on the altar, and the day my real mother died in her bedroom while I sat alone with her.

I'm scared to stop moving, to stop thinking because there is not a day that doesn't go by that I am not still in that room with her in my mind for a moment; she has been gone now for 2 years. She was the second woman that ever loved me, and without trying, she contradicted what I thought to be an altruism; that as a man, you were only as good to a woman as what you could do for her and that as a man, your feelings were insignificant, and though she wasn't the last woman to ever make me feel this way, it is still a very short list nonetheless.

I was at one point voted the ugliest boy in school. (Self pitying, I know, but I had to get that out.)

My birth mother was and is one of the most sociopathic, narcissistic human beings on the planet. The only thing that saddens me more than the fact that I doubt she ever truly loved me as her child, is that the only reason I was born was as a means to an ends, nothing more, and that's pretty much the extent of our relationship. I am only worried I'll inherit her self-involved, codependent tendencies, I question my judgements at times, and I distance myself from even those I am close to, and those I find easy to manipulate for fear of myself.

I have spent the majority of my life "manufacturing people" as a friend once put it, unwilling subconsciously to see them for what the are and making them out to be more than that. When you grow up feeling you were born a sin, you tend to avoid seeing the flaws in others because for one you can't see them past your own, and in terms of love you don't want to admit that this person is incapable of loving you because you are scared to face the truth from your jaded perpsective that they may never be able to love you with you pretending they do, that maybe no one ever can.

I am ashamed to be around my father because I just found out I may not even be his child. He has always been aware of this, and though he accepts me as his own, I can't help but feel guilt and shame, having prevented him from living the life he could have led, which may have been a better one.

I have fought to keep my self-hatred from affecting my opinion of others, as well as the crippling need to judge, and subscribe to finality and absolutes, and I have been for the most part successful. 90% of the people I have met in the past few years have been exactly what I have thought them to be, and that usually varies in terms of good or for that matter, bad.

I've gotten by with more than a little help from my friends, I love the family I have left and I consider them all one and the same, and hope I never let them forget that.

3

2005-12-01T15:30:00.000-06:00

Even when you tried your best to love me you berated, I gave all the love I could and you laughed at my feelings while they died on the floor inbetween us from never being reciprocated. I stood through it all bewildered and gullible enough to believe I was the problem and to this day I am grateful you loved me wrong because from it I learned how to love me right. And I walk away from your heart's house rules insearch of one who loves with honesty and without fear, with a willingness to love sincerly and bravely and with equal humilty and after all the years and thoughts of you have passed and your words have become a long dissapated sound unable to haunt me like some poison I long ago inbibed, I sit serene with my righteous one smiling, for in spite of you, I have survived.

2

2005-11-21T00:23:00.000-06:00

11/14/05 12:50pm.
I got fired today. I had really looked forward to getting this job, had planned to work at making it more than a check to check milk run. I had a feeling I would but I had hoped I was wrong, which has been a really good feeling lately. I had been logging incorrectly on the phone, and when you do that, it registers you as not logged in, or late. I had assumed, or more to the point was told, that when you login incorrectly, you hear a really rude tone noise on your phone, which I had not been hearing. While I don't want to point fingers because it doesn't feed my children, I'm not going to sit here and tell you I made it a point to be late, I just fell victim to my own negligence, obviously. But none the less they coupled the tardies with a number of absences I had accrued in training along with a recent sick day I had took (the bus strike, riding w/friends-who I by no means blame-had car issues, whereas I should have played it safe and took the bus all along ) and decided to part ways with me as of this morning. I left with my head up, not about to indulge in self pity or hindsight given all teh hell I've been through and I left. I ran into my friend, one of my kindred poets on the way to the bus stop. I told him what had happened, and he wished me well with the concern family gives and we parted ways towards seperate futures until our next intersection. I began brainstorming, calling all the temp agencies to reinstate my status as available, and fought the urge to lament on the bus home. I had pondered even fighting to keep this apartment now that I had a job, but push shoves the minute it comes through the door, so I'll need to land something soon, and get my unemployment back on line so I can get my children's christmas gifts, which are pretty much to say the least the priority right now and always, as I'd call a cardboard box the hilton to keep it that way.

1

2005-11-20T23:17:00.000-06:00

11/09/05 11:09pm
I had my first feature today. It was at Mitchie's African American art gallery. I was told ahead of time that I would be the feature. I got ready. I selected my pieces in interest of time and subject matter. I developed the sequence in which they should be said, to include commentary in between each piece, for substance. Everything was as it should be, which is why it amazes me that I choked so badly. I almost literally completely flopped. If my pieces weren't as good as people say they were the show would have been a total loss. I wanted to apologize and walk off the stage.There were 3 or 4 great poets in the stage, and I wanted to stop and ask one of them to come up and pick my slack because I sucked. I was shaky nervous, and they knew it. I forgot lines, I got them mixed up, and I came off sounding contrived at best.I want to be better at this, I need to be but I get up there and I get the shakes. Reggie told me he didn't even notice, plus the crowd wasn't that responsive anyway. But I did manage to secure another feature, and I sold 4 of the last five chapbooks I had.