Here is the word I
would place alongside myself.
A neon placard, no
hesitation.
An ugly-shiny presence within
the confines of my breath, the
whispers in my hair.

Bittersweet.

I split it open into near-perfection like
two halves of a peach or
two sides of a brain.
Right, left,
right -
I don't even like peaches.
But I offer them to you.

My 'sweet' is a sucker-punch candy on
your tongue, you confess. Like
licked-off icing, 100%
perfect.
You love it. You love her.
But it's only half of -

The 'bitter' I hand over, all
slap-dashed with hurt and
hope that
maybe finally
you'll be that boy who holds the glue to
put me back together.
Pick up
the halves of the half that
stop
your tongue and
put me back together again.
Would you do that?
Of course you
don't.

It's okay.

You cannot, I cannot deny,
the 'bitter' is grinding, grating,
binding
and I don't tell you that
I'm tired.
So tired
of pouring sugar on it,
with my hands all out of breath. Pouring
sugar
that's only stolen.

Feeling up your aspirations
Nibbling at your concentrations
Noticing that gleam you hold
Feeling cold
Our love is old
Striking eyes and soft goodbyes
Looking back at all the lies
Redened eyes and smallish sighs

I don't want to fight you anymore
Red cheeks and bitten lips
Couldn't help a softer kiss
Squinting through the daylight hours
Pouring over love turned **sour

Life gave me lemons
But It gave me no sugar

I'm collecting each passing moment
with a pinch of salt and sugar
sprinkled in my memory

One, two, three shakers full.

but the sands of time keep slipping
through my mortal fingers

I keep an empty jar on the top shelf.

and everything else is a blinding mishmash
of my mind in the morning light.*

Please don't look under the bed, it's embarrassing
what I forget to think about.

Black sugar you say
Black as the night
Sweet as your lips
Caressing my senses
Touching me deep
I felt it running through me

Warming me up
from the inside
Leaving a glow
of heat and energy
Oh God what have you done
What have I become

Black sugar
in the longest of days
Black sugar
in the shortest of nights
Black sugar
with a friend
or without

I see a speck of sugar,
One sparkling crystal
Holding the sky, stars and the earth
Here on my palm.
I can not send it to you
But I pick it on the tip of my tongue
To share with you all
The sweetness.

I gave myself to you,
surrendered to desire.

What I thought was toasty warm
turned out to be a fire.

You built me up
with words of how
lovely I could be.

All I had to do was
promise to never leave.

You ripped apart my confidence,
stripped me to the bare.

Pulled at my fringing seams
until nothing was left there.

You fed me lies of love,
kissed me with your
sugar coated lips.

You made me unhealthy,
your sugar made me sick.

By the time I tasted love,
you had fled away.

I should have known
you would never last.

Sugar has a habit
of making things
decay.

I love to add sugar                                                                                                    To my tea , but                                                                                                         If I add honey ,then                                                                                                  It's better ...                                                                                                                I love to add salt                                                                                                        To my food,but                                                                                                         If I add a recommended amount of salt                                                                To my food , then                                                                                                     It's better ...                                                                                                               If I stop adding sugar or salt                                                                                     To my drinks or to my food ,then                                                                       It will the best step                                                                                               I take anytime ...................... .

I

I am often attracted to things unhinged. Not necessarily (traditionally) romantic, more akin to an unwillingness to ask permission, one who might say It was never your permission to begin with and not be angry or upset about having to say it. Few are so willing to evaluate situations without the overwhelming cloud of emotion. Judgment fully withheld, kind banter catching wind. A needed immediacy.

Jean-Michel Basquiat was aware of the past. He pretended to not care if you did not like his paintings. Part of him was upset some people did not understand. Basquiat strangled history down to basics: music, culture, society (not the same thing), generations of family after family. His point was not for you to obtain this. This was his conscience—tangible. Brain processing. Synthesizing. To him it was so simple. I refuse the word primal because it is misguided, it does not factor purity, clarity. Sugar Ray Robinson told Basquiat to stop painting the background. Tuxedo told Basquiat what words to place and where.

So much of my art is stripped and lucid and enacted with only me in mind.