When you kissed me
your soft blonde hair
chilled by the icy wind
wrapped around my infected piercing
pulled at it painfully
dislodged the scab
and made it bleed.
I said nothing
not wanting to upset you.
In turn
I threw my arms around you
and buried my face against
your shoulder
compressing the fresh cuts
lined perfectly on your arms.
You cried out
and pushed me away.

Triangle praise
clappy happy shapes.
Tall librarian,  robes slipping underneath his own worth.
pennies to donate, salaried sanctity.
Precious metal prayer.
hatred of man, verse cursed, line lynched.
And thus begins todays mass sin.
turn to page three hundred and hatred forth.

Oh, fruit forbidden
so sour, so sweet
I have been banished from the garden
and I don't think I miss it

-Hannah baker (13 Reasons why)

I would like to slip softly, kindly, into the abyss..
That sweet nothingness, which cradles all in darkness.

I wish to become part of it,
Letting that cold emptiness entwine itself, into my thoughts, smothering them into decay.

I seek to see no trace left, of this mortality I hold.
To let it drift away on oceans of black, eventually sinking sweetly beneath the tectonic plates.

Erased.

when the therapist asked
about my family history,
I gave her a history lesson.

I told her that growing up,
my house was a war zone.

I don't remember
what year it was, but eventually
the house collapsed into itself.
that trauma left me scared and hurt
with nowhere to go.

my mother moved out first.
she moved straight into
a life of addiction, and then
she found a new house
in the form of a jail cell.

my father also began
to call a jail cell his home.
he moved into the newspaper,
and then into the database of the
national *** offender registry.

now, we have separate houses
and conflicting beliefs.

we don't share anything
besides that story
and our DNA.

I couldn't tell her
about my family history,
because I don't
have parents anymore.

I have no family.
all I have is history.

Pushin my baby on the swing each one way,
        Bullets passing the wind not punching
me and my baby. But the fools be running
like they could outrun fate.

They can't escape the crosshairs of
  ill-prepared revenge.  
    Cadavers hit the floor blood outlines
that turn white after they felled.

I kept pushing my youth, hoping
she'd grow to an age where she
           could push her own.

But every day I playing Russian
   roulette with her swinging,
    me pushing her further so that
she's higher than the gunshots


          as they always hitting lower.

Today I was pushing her, she in her nikes,
     swinging her higher than death could
catch her tight grip...

But my neighbor she hanging low, catching
two unfollowed friend requests  flying through
the air, one in the thigh, one between the thoughts,

I kept pushing as her shadow swallowed by her
folding on the floor, her baby swinging slower
but still alive.

         Blue took her to her daddy, hope they
find out who they are as she had more than
           one by another man...


I m still here pushing my baby on a silent playground.
      No one comes here, that's good for me.
   pushing her low as there isn't a problem
of drive-bye byes... No more *******, no one to ****.
                  There is just me and my baby pushing..


Come on baby its time to go home,
                 the road is white, and we aren't
going to our usual place...


R.I.P to those who never didn't do nothing.
          


Another drive-by, grills smiling as flashes
greeting shaded window frames,
                                          hanging low.

sometimes I lay awake at night
and fixate on things I shouldn’t
whispers of my own transgressions linger

although it seems disingenuous
I am eager to fill the space
between this world and the old

please ward away the chilling breeze
make them apologize
because silence was one of my worst decrees

i am Orpheus in the clouds
playing clown for the masses.

i'm half of the shaft of light
breaking mosaically into
millions of pieces across the kitchen floor.

i'm a smoky chandelier swaying with
the bravado of a censure on high-holy-day.

i'm the royal velvet lining your blood.

i am a poem, without reason, read to you
by a stranger.

i am 200 tons of cracked granite one thousand
feet above you splitting off from the face of
the mountain.

but more so than any of that,

i'm a peculiar kind
of nothing

typing words onto
screens before
i die.