If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

it is hard to love someone
while you're grieving
the loss of the person they used to be.

my brother hasn't spoken in weeks.
a headstone reads,
here lies the brother you once had,
and the flowers I placed there are barely living.
I've spent all of my time digging him out of one grave,
only to discover there's an entire cemetery left to unbury.

my mother hasn't smiled in days,
and exhaustion has become
the guest that has overstayed its welcome.
misery usually loves company,
but I am anxious for it leave.

I am homesick for a house
that I once lived in.
I am homesick for a place
where only love grows
from this family tree.

1997
the roots of my family tree
are shallow and malnourished,
breaking through the Earth's skin as a reminder
that it cannot always keep the ugly
hidden underneath.
my DNA is a life sentence for a crime
I never wanted to commit.

1999
my father called my brother a king
before he even left the womb.
a solar eclipse that has lasted years
because of my inability to escape his shadow;
though, I'm not sure I ever will.
the world will always be his stage,
and I, just a poorly constructed backdrop.

2005
my skin has turned
black and blue back into flesh.
I hope, one day,
my mind takes a lesson from my body
and learns how to forget you.

2011
they call him the all merciful god,
and I can't help but to laugh,
because the only thing he promised
to those who hurt me was forgiveness.
I prayed up until the day
god changed his phone number.
atheism is a learned behavior;
I only wonder when god stopped
believing in me.

2015
I live my life in reverse.
I drink coffee at midnight,
read the epilogues first,
go to bed in the morning.
I spent my childhood in this grave,
now it is time to dig myself out.

I don't want to be misunderstood,
losing a friend to suicide is incredibly hard
but what I find most unnerving is how infectious
the idea of escape can be.

Dave was the kind of guy to always talk about leaving; we have all known a guy like Dave and we have always wished he would go, not because we didn’t want him around but because we knew he was one of the few who could go. Sometimes he would work up the courage and leave this suburban drive by; he even spent a few months out west, Portland or something. He never mentioned it much, the trip didn’t last long, more like an extended vacation before he was back working the same job, drinking at the same bar and kissing the same woman, well not the same exact woman but she was always close enough to the previous one, the difference seemed insignificant to us. I'd look at him at the end of that bar, sipping his beer as he wore the face of a man who was often late for work because he lost his keys. He found them once before between the cushions of the couch, so now every time he misplaced them, he would check their first and check again six more times. Always looking for what he needed in the same place he found it once.

Treatable, but
incurable.
Take one pill twice a day,
probably for the rest of your life.
There's no guarantee
on how many days, months, years
you've got left.
You could feel fine one week,
then have Death on speed dial the next.
Of course, they tell you the
survival rate is very high.
So you sit there in the dark,
but hey, you're alive, right?
The doctors don't use the word 'terminal'
when diagnosing you.
But, then again, they don't have to.

I'm sorry that
I do not come with a manual,
a warning.
All I've got is the
"Handle With Care"
stamp, marked on my forehead.
Please forgive me for I tend
to malfunction from
time to time.
I wish it was easy.
When I get so sad that
I cannot leave my bed,
turn to page 37, section B
for care instructions.
But loving me
is not that simple.
I ask that you
proceed with caution,
some parts of me
are still being repaired.