Brace

You don’t expect grief when it comes knocking at your door.
You can’t ignore the ceaseless pounding either way.
Like a bouncing ball on a concrete floor, grief moves closer in sweeping arcs and if you are not ready it will hit you hard in the back of your head.
You can’t brace yourself too hard, lock your knees and you pass out.
Instead you must inhale the grief in, feel it intermingling with your blood, taste its acrid burn on your well-worn tongue, hear the cacophony of rage that pushes against your ear drums
And just when you think you can’t contain anymore,exhale and release it into the empty undulating ocean where it will dissipate amongst the collective
You will float, toes dangling in the aquamarine water, head relaxed, heart beats slow
You are here again

Feel The Weight

I feel the weight of who I am
In every step of my neon Converses
I see the shape of the person I could have been
In every dressing room mirror or every
Aggressively filtered weight loss Instagram ad

The guilt I feel is counterbalanced by a boundless naivete
That makes every movement reek of fetid hope and sickly-sweet nihilism
So when I wake up in the morning, please remind me

That I’m not broken
That I’m not old
That I’m not lost
That life is full

I still hope that when the sun rises,
It rises on a different me
But I also recognize the person
I want to be isn’t as far away as he seems

My life is not over

The First In Line Falls

The first in line falls
His armor shredded
Legs nearly snapped

So stands the second
Ready and waiting
To pick up his spear
And move forward

But he hesitates
Looks down
Sees the fate awaiting him
The second turns away

His back to the invasion
The second flees
His home awaits
With verdant green

But his back is struck
A solidly-thrown spear
Protrudes, shaft hums
As so it always goes

The second falls
His armor shredded
Legs nearly snapped
But at least he dreamed
Of home

Insomnia

The passive hostility of the waking world
Makes me too sick to get out of bed
If I pull back the curtains, all that will
Be there is a blood-sun trying its
Best to blind me and burn out my retinas

I might as well just go back to sleep
There’s a peace that shapes the dark
Just the blankness of a cacophonous mind
Awaits behind the veil of closed eyes
I remember when I used to dream

4A

The night smells of coconut and lavender
Even though you’re no longer here
My wooden bed with a bookshelf frame is still
Even though we never shared it

Your gray-green eyes burn into mine
Even through sleep-wearied eyelids
I wish I could wake up and see you next to me
Even though I never will

September

I will place sunflowers on your grave
When I feel that you are gone
They will come from
A condensation-laden bucket
At a florist’s stand in a grocery store

I wish I could say that I worked hard
Trying to pick the bouquet that best
Fit who you were, who you are and
Who you could’ve been but all is lost in time

I will sit with my back on the headstone
Wishing for any feeling besides cold granite
Hot anger and a lukewarm apathy that sticks
Like tapioca pudding to every movement of my frame

I think I lost you the first moment that I saw
Mist pass in front of your eyes
I said nothing as the blindness took you
Changing the magenta hues of a sunrise
Into the indigo wool of a sunset

These sunflowers are my last plea
To a god pulling reins in my chariot brain
I can’t place this burden down until my race ends
No victors, no losers, only foam-flecked steeds
Dying in agony on unforgiving sand

I’m Not Black

Just because all my friends are white
Doesn’t mean that
I’m not black

Just because I am mistaken for Hispanic or Samoan
Doesn’t mean that
I’m not black

Just because I’ve never seen Friday or Living Single
Doesn’t mean that
I’m not black

Just because I feel incredibly uncomfortable saying any variation of the n-word
Doesn’t mean that
I’m not black

Just because they said that I don’t see you that way like they were apologizing
Doesn’t mean that
I’m not black

Just because I don’t fit a stereotype that I built in my head of what it means to be black
Doesn’t mean that
I’m not black

Graduation

Look to the person on your right
Look to the person on your left
One of you will never use your degrees
The time you wasted will soak into your brain
Like vinegar into ultra absorbent paper towels
Until they swell, bursting with sour-sweet stench
The regrets will trace your steps, placing shadows
Along every burnt-edged footprint that you make
Your mistakes etching a daguerreotype into the
Trampled vegetation as you try to make your own path
Burn your credentials for warmth because we are all alone

Madagascar 3

I know I ignored
The caution sign
Outside this AMC
But the marquee said
That it was playing
Madagascar 3

I had only seen
The first one before
How does the story end
Oh the animals
All go to space to
Fight a ice dragon

Well that’s a weird turn
For the series to take
But what can a writer do
To heighten the plot
Tell a new story
And keep them out of the zoo

I would like to watch
The movie now and
Fall asleep in this chair
I know this theater
Has been condemned but
Frankly I don’t care

Just give me a hour
Maybe two so I can see
What happens next
The charges will blow
And I’ll still be here
The theater will be a wreck

At least I will die
My life’s goal complete
I’ll know how the story ends
In the afterlife
I’ll be met by Gloria
King Julien and other Madagascar friends

Release

How do I release my shame
Wash myself in the river
Ink leaks from my skin
Paints my fingers black

Instead I feel my shame
Warp with every movement
Every step driving shards
Into my spiderweb skeleton

The spikes pierce through
My loved ones as they are
Impaled in a radius and
Left in the sun to rot

I didn’t used to feel like this
Like I am constantly pushing
A world away, Atlas in reverse,
No support, only failed effort

I see my shame as another being
One who is both of me and not
A burnt-black gremlin who sneers
Waiting for scraps

I try to ignore the tendrils that stream
From the base of my spine, binding me,
Feeding me, sustaining me, the hatchet
In my hand is dull, unworn and in stasis

I stare at the pebble-flecked ceiling
Wishing it would peel back and pick me up
Drywall-caked lips peeling back
Ready to receive my mistakes, my lies, my regrets

I want to forgive myself

Just once