Write everyday.
Write everyday no matter what.
Write even at a loss for words.
Write down the sounds.

I make notes of the plane crashes
I've never heard, the brook trout
that never shook pond water
onto the brittle grass when I didn't
catch it, or the thunder cup coil
I keep kneeing trying to give the overcast
over the mountain something to compete
with.

And I'm not sorry.
       I'm not.      I'm not sorry that my
reborn Christian best    friend    has   seen the    light,
and I still scoff when people pray over potatoes.
And I only believe in plastic Polaroid postcards
from last decade timestamped in the white space
with Bic black ink.
I'm not sorry for that.

And truth is, I've never washed this black shirt;
just hung it hoping that moths' would ****
the sweat spots and leave
the fabric.

I clenched the gold cap beneath
my ring finger from the glass green
bottle occupying my lips driving
down the Marsh Creek bridge.
I wanted to relate / to be relatable /
relative to the sedans, and seatbelts
too tight to breathe, passing me.

At the end of the bridge, where there was no chance
of drowning and the road color changed, I parked
in the driveway of a wooden house. Its blinds
were up, shades pulled apart with two hands
like gas station freezer doors, leaving them
vulnerable to the hiss of semi truck tractor
trailer high beams slicing through fifty +
raindrops per second going a few miles shy
of sixty-five, yet the people inside moved so freely.
I  sat Indian-style—a term I learned at four
then learned it to be racist at fourteen—
in their driveway, and ate the gravel
they walked on trying to taste security
because all I'd had in the last few hours
were plates of refried fear.

Fear of audit, of my teeth breaking off,
and of ending up like Eric Garner
when I heard that wailing
Voice of Justice
coming for me in the distance.

This addiction I'm addicted to is writing rhymes when I'm missing you I know you want it to like sticky glue I'm picking you straight sticking to you cuz my addiction is I'm addicted to you.
Baby my life is full of scars in my brain from smoking shards everyday getting harder everyday trying to barter everyday just to send you messages everyday in any way that I can.
You think it's easy being a man? when the cops came do you know why I ran? Cuz going to jail zero bail zero mail wasn't the plan. But instead, hugging you loving you rubbing you trying to be a man for you trying to do what I can for you  with a d.o.c. felony warrant out for me not for you I'm crazy over you let's get back to my addiction I'm addicted to you.
It's going to get better well at least in this letter it is. why? because if it wasn't for my guy I d just sit and cry and wished Id die but it seems like he's keeping me alive while I stress hard at night cuz I got no reply my girl didn't press six every time I called I woulda just bawled my eyes out which is usually not allowed in here where fear is considered week you better not leak a tear or you can just push the button and get the **** up out of here but I'm still here faceing three years I thought youd stick with me but why do I feel your unsticking not sticking to me slowly falling off I feel like I'm being robbed without you everything I ever loved is gone because I'm gone?? Where is God? Well, like my kid he's gone and I'm just being real I'm not trying to hate on quote our Creator but he's not here either no disrespect to the readers of this if you're believer I could see why you'd be ****** but really I can care less so let's try to get back to the reason why I'm writing about addiction for no reason or why my hearts supposed to be pumping blood but instead is bleeding like my knees bleeding from kneeing from needing help but not seeing im delt being beat with belts can't go to school with welts cuz they're afraid I'll tell well can you blame me? **** it **** me take a picture and frame me  I'm ashamed I was ever anybody's baby I mean am i going crazy? maybe it's because lately I'm back to not giving a **** I don't believe my luck but I'm forced to with no remorse or chorus I just keep writing of course sitting in jail eating the porridge  we get every morning weather my cellys  snoring it don't matter anymore cuz I'm being filled with hate till the moment I snap or break like taking the juice away I used to pour  in my cake pretty soon it's going to be too late to bring back the man that would have done anything for your *** **** **** I just gotta  give thanks to HATE for putting up with me as I'm stressin G cuz obviously without my ***** I seem a little wobbly wobbling around I swear he knows everything I mean without having to explain anything.
I want to flip out trip out then dip out but I'm stuck here with my **** out as My ***** rips out and dips out with my heart that's scarred now it's hard sometimes when your straight blinded from the outside but reminded by thoughts that are rewinded and replayed everyday i cant get away cuz praying doesn't work so **** the **** that said it would or said it could change my life  instead I struggle just to stay alive and not cry cuz nobody gives a **** about ty. That's why I'm holding on so tight to this girl I've been trying to find my whole life I'm just glad I didn't **** myself with those knives or am I?
I really don't know but I hope my pain in this shows from the highs and lows to the blankets we use as pillows this addiction I'm addicted to is feeling these flows even when nobody knows if when or how the story may go you may be told someday when you're old that your dad didn't make it cuz he couldn't take it no mo now that's just real your dad couldn't heal without you! now to the women he dated and married to make you I swear I don't hate you it's not too late to make it up to you its just hard to be free will they ever release me? I mean the systems like a disease like cancer and *** till your deceased trapped by the ultimate gang of police that does the government's ***** deeds till they feed us full of diseases never release us I mean where is Jesus? They say he died to free us but really I think he committed treason the reason is because he couldn't free us he couldn't be us he escaped back to the safety of the heavenly gates where he could watch people in pain dying everyday women getting ***** kids taken away you ask me God isn't real and Jesus is fake so to the pencil that helped  me write this Thanks.

I wish to be
an infamous serial killer,
that targets love-thirsty men.

I mean,
wouldn't it be interesting
to slash through their hearts,
with sharp, flirtation glances,
or cutting through entrails
to look for stomach butterflies,

what about blowing up their minds,
when I don't respond to convos,
and kneeing them with shrugs
till they beg for attention.

alas,
I was victimised,
before I can even morph into
a cold-blooded murderer myself

My grandpa who eats steamed sweet potatoes on foothills textured in green rice patties
dreamt up a tall brick house with a black iron gate
barbwires sprung around the tips of the entrance to keep out thieves
right now he wonders how long he can keep fibbing to my mother—
their rotten hut at the end of the massive foothill, not fleeting
monsoons come early, swells the ground till it gave
a landslide takes four people and a child

that day, red stars hung above Tiananmen square gates
grounded bones came in sacks, white cement hauled by green skin trucks

My grandpa who loves sweet potatoes constructs an ivory wall.

after the revolution, the sun peeks out in montages
peering through the smoke
gunpowder stuck to the tank tire roads
black heads roll off yellow tar dirt into a pit
My grandpa gives his best friend one thousand yuan—
visas for my mother and grandma,
His best friend disappears,

writes my grandpa
an apology and, leaves him a large white sack of uncooked sweet potatoes

light tan, severs in half and plops down on the lumpy cutting board,
dusty orange inners, grandpa tosses them in the boiling water
and later, while gnawing down,
he pretends they are oranges for once

Grandpa, who’s kneeling on our dried front yard with a worn out copper pail
waters the salty earth slowly until it sprouts sugar canes
chops one down, breaks it in half, the sun beats
peering through palm leaves
a viridescent river of silk and pale honey
my small three year arms grab a hand full
sliced by grandpa into pieces neatly placed
in a blue flowered ceramic bowl
years later, I chop a stalk down and chew until
English becomes a second language again
and in my twenties, I grab a hand full
sliced my mom into pieces, places them in a weaved basket
made of reinforced bamboo
I put it in front of my grandpa’s grave
in Fujian on the foggy mountainside of a small retirement town.
The edge of the South China coast covered in a thick plastic smog,
I sit on a stone eating sweet cold potatoes with my grandpa facing outland,
a red kneeing sun, barely visible past the trees

By jumping out into the fiery shot,
I find myself getting caught,
In the chest and right shoulder,
Feeling the pain making me colder.

But, I stand still, attempting to hold in my pain,
knowing he would have nothing to gain.
I look up to his face, seeing no glee,
and stare back as I say, "Just shoot me."

I knew the fear in him as I spoke those words,
Seeing that the shots had even scared the birds.
I continue speaking, "As much as you may have almost shot me in the gullet,
I think you may as well give me those last few bullets."

My foe's shocked face is shown through his eyes,
Revealing things so easily through his disguise.
But, the shock is cancelled for only a while,
As he shoots two more bullets from less than a mile.

Again, both bullets hit my chest,
Attempting to have me put to rest.
Blood spurts out, but life is not lost,
For my face has a smile straight across.

I keep standing still, not giving a frown,
For I know I won't go down.
The friend behind me who almost died,
Looks at me innocently for having even tried.

The villain pulls back, attempting to not look,
At the bulletproof man who he tried to book,
For the pay was high and the reward so clear,
Yet not anymore shall he be here.

My body stands for a silence,
As I close my own two eyelids.
A slurred walk to the enemy's way,
That soon it will be the end of his own day.

This demonic creature cowers in fear,
For my own ****** body only becomes even more near.
He crawls back to the wall, thinking he will be saved.
However, he is now only caved,
Into the wall,
Leading him to his own downfall.

I finally reach him, taking out my fist,
Hearing the fall to the floor, knowing I hadn't missed.
Last energy bits go through this human being,
While we both begin to fall unconscious with my last bit of kneeing.

I slowly awaken to a small white room,
Beeping noises all around, showing no doom.
A joyous voice greets me as a salty liquid meets my face,
Speaking out as if she were the voice of heaven's own gate.

"Thank you so much," she speaks with tears all over,
Whilst I slowly move my right arm to pat her shoulder.
We stay like this for one more hour,
Knowing that the past week had been so sour.

My protection for her was great,
For she was already my mate.
The enemy's guilty pleas, however, were not so met,
As his own crimes brought him only death.

But, my own true goal,
besides keeping my mate from having a couple holes,
Was showing my reaction to fear,
For my courage wasn't so mere.

My face, after all, showed only smiles,
Keeping them on the whole long while.
I was even told, after having passed out,
My own mouth kept the grin, even after the bout.

I am willing to stick in for another friend,
Even if I'd be hurt by the bullet, in the end,
But my enemy will frown as he didn't see it coming away by a mile,
For I'll live as long as I go out in my smile.

Adopt a prayer from the inner heart
The spoken word heard through the inner ear
The sincere cry
The kneeing prayer an effort try
Heaven’s gates that are open wide
The spoken response
My praying continual in God’s time
My heart was troubled with full of despite
I felt no one really cared
But while I was on my knee’s
A praying hand was extended out
All I could do was praise and open my mouth in a big shout
Cry no more, as I will help you bear more
I am the savior for you to explore
It’s the Heaven’s full of galore
It’s the testimony that will be full of sure
Adopt a prayer
A praying hand of motion
Your horizon seeing beyond any ocean
The vision in looking up
Then later, “Adopt a prayer”.

More than I could have asked for, more than I could ever dream...
Kisses with you,
Your hand in mine,
Kneeing with you,
Exchanging rings.
I will never give this up for anything.

My faith is the certainty that gives me clarity to see
that there’s a path just beneath the current uncertainty.

My faith is a step, a one step at a time
not much of a leap, but me taking his hand with mine.
My faith is a day-by-day holding,
a minute-by-minute treading
of my boot in his footmarks left for me as a blessing.

My faith is choice that needs repeated repeating,
a daily seating at his feet,
it's not a fleeting feeling,
it’s a morning and evening both-knees kneeing.

My faith is a decision and decisions were made
to be made,
so pray,
take him at his word and take the next step,
but don’t be surprised if it involves you getting both feet wet.
Cos that is where you’ll find Jesus
at the point you find yourself out of your depth.

My faith is the certainty that gives me clarity to see
that whatever my path,
my God has gone before me.

Surrounded by Faith
Encouraging the world
Spiritual swirl
Kneeing and embracing
Fulfilling and suggesting
Journeying through the highways and back roads
Praying having a purpose
Praying for the hearts of the people
Just that simple
Unloading the empty hearts
Step aboard and pray
Break through
Health issues to overcome
Pray Pray Pray
The praying traveling bus bringing inspiration
The praying bus slogan “Let us show you how”
Praying being a continuous matter
Too much negative chatter
Pray for all time
Respect and be kind
Prayer time