Life once asked the death
“Why do people hate you but love me?”
She asked him curiously
“It’s simple.”
He answered.
“That’s because i’m the painful truth.
And you are the sweetest lie.”

Life was still curious
“What if there are someone who thinks that i’m the painful lie?”
She asked.
“Than, they would think that i’m the sweetest truth.”
He smiled.

I’ve been taught by my mother
That it’s much better to tell bitterest truth
Than sweetest lie.
It’s much better to be honest.

I’ve grown up and learned something
That sweet lies are things that most people seek.
They learned, they fell, they woke up and they walked
By the things that we knew as sweet lies
Life taught me so.

I’ve grown up and learned something
That most of people were frightened by the bitter truth
They know that things existed
They know that, that bitter truth would come
And they would run away, even though they couldn’t.
Death told me so.

But when life hits me hard once.
I know that beautiful lie aren’t beautiful after all.
So is life.
And that teaches me something that i believe until now.
That death is our best friend.
‘Cause he’ll come to us.
It’s just a matter of time.

I’ve been taught that it’s better to be honest.
But we live in things that contained with lie
And i’ve learned from death.
That he'll never tells the truth even though he is the truth itself.

So if you don’t understand what life is
And what death is.
You won’t be able to understand me.
Neither the words that i'll tell you.

That this might be the last lie
From all the bullcrap that spilled out from my mouth
I don’t love you anymore
And i never do.

I sit in the day room of
cell block one in the county jail at
4: 30 am.  It's quiet, almost serene.
All the other inmates are asleep.
I wait for breakfast: two hard-boiled eggs,
a doughnut, juice, and milk.  
Once a week we can order books.
They will deliver them today.
I'll get Bukowski, Steinbeck, and Cervantes.
The remaining six days will
fly by.
When I'm released, I'll go under
the bridge—steal wine and
stay drunk.
I'll eat every three or four days.
It's January with record-setting
frigid temperatures.
Survival will be a challenge.
There will be an ex-girlfriend to
contend with.
I'll try to get what little
clothes that I left at her place,
that is if she didn't throw them away;
she's somewhat of a **** like that.
My two best friends who stayed under
the bridge with me, died a day
apart two months ago,
so, nothing but
ghosts and memories there now.
I'm going to miss jail.

forget off ! burned toast,
The present moment wasn't making a presence into the next

The heart
Is not an *****
As many think

The heart is a muscle

Does the fact that mine was crushed far too often
Make it weak
Or make it strong?

The same corner bends beneath us.

The ground gives, then takes,

like it knows we will fall again.

We call it learning,

but the sky calls it forgetting.

I was trapped, but
as noisy-quick triggers burn
adult options wait, smoke-obscured

Now I have agency

I was naïve, but
as searing-shame echoes blush
tenure-chastened growth sprouts verdant

Now I have wisdom

I was wounded, but
as oily black trauma smears
injure-blemished skin heals tougher

Now I have scars

I was confused, but
as guileless young stories waste
lesson-laden tales are woven

Now I have clarity

I was in danger, but
as painful new learnings flow
hard-won armour fends when needed

Now I have shielding

I can decide,
and I know
I am strong
in clear-eyed
protection

I am grown