the most powerful four letter word. . .

the first morning i slept alone
i looked in the mirror
noticed
you kissed a four-letter word under my bottom lip
i thought
the last time you pressed yours to mine we were saying goodbye
rather
you bid adieu to the me that loved you past myself
loved you
til pain felt the same as loving and living for you
noticed
the same four-letter word stamped on the inside of my lip
know i never spoke so
it must've branded itself through my teeth
came up but refused to go down or out
mirror images of what we both want but can't have
you used it like a machete
swung at my arms and my legs as i inched toward the door
this four-walled hand I've been dealt
like this
four-letter sentence I'm serving in the new prison of reality without you
amplifies every time i tie my shoes
close doors behind
echoes like creaks in the floorboard
my home is not supposed to be haunted by a word you never said to me inside it
a word you never said just
rom-com kissed me into believing
fucked me into needing
I wrestle with peace when I'm up and when I'm dreaming
I'm sorry i couldn't stop you from becoming what you always wanted to be
bittersweet tragedy
shakespearean in its legacy
allegory in its relevance
you exist as real as the shadows on my bedroom wall
as real as the four letters you footprinted on my face expecting me to give chase
when all i can do is stand in the middle of apartment
heart
head
present
future in my hands
past like ashes from the sage smudged to clear the way for you
maybe i shoulda opened the window for that smoke signal
or just branded you like you branded me
that way
STAY
could be something you'd have to taste
feel and look in the face
every morning you wake

snow shields

*from a workshop I did with Desiree Dallagiacomo

snow comforts
encompassing white and blue sky
arms taut in my jacket
this is what it feels like to be surrounded and alone

i wasn't scared
did not fear the white
longed to touch the blue
my arms don't move
my voice has no use
just time and snow cold
tall to protect
tall to guard
like my mother guards
she'll be back soon
i know this
I'm not scared

snow shields
the wind blows swirls
on my face and my feet
keeps company as I wait
white and blue smile
high
feels like hugs
we should hug
she is warm

Tons of YouTube videos!

So, lately a bunch of people have been taping me doing poems. So take a look!

At Bill's Records in Dallas:
Lions and Trees



Snowflake



At the Battle of the Metroplex:
Snowflake

The night of. . .

Late night. driving a young man home to the same neighborhood I used to call home. hearing the verdict and all the sadness and all the everything from a people desperate for justice. Watching this young man til the door of his home is safely closed and locked behind him. Seeing much of myself in him. His bright face bespectacled and glowing like the neon green shoelaces from his 16th birthday gifts. . . trying not to write a poem.

Hugging the boy I once watched grow. Now 5'6", 11 years of man-child and mirror image of his mother. Boy in his smile but man in his glare and knowing. All the track practice in the world don't outrun bullets and fear and systems we can no longer run away from. . . Trying not to write a poem.

Working my retail job, hoodie up, and reading the faces for the same sadness crying down my insides. The black man looking for chess books I nickname Deacon cause his scent reminds me of my father's church, though at 10 a.m. Sunday he is not. The white woman arguing her book price with fervor practiced in her bathroom. The man asking for a markdown on the book for his daughter, quiet and reserved. Balancing anger and sadness in routine salutations. . .trying not to write a poem.

Her voice repeats, "if i could write this shit in fire," and. I can't. If i could, if we could, its ashes would have spread seeds and outgrown these old world problems. Still. . . Trying not to write a poem because. Because. Actions speak.