Waking up without you next to me is dim, like the muffled sunlight that is trying to sing it’s good mornings beyond your opaque curtains. There is no skirting around the fact that we are pathetic with our love. You left me alone at an Andrea Gibson show for 15 min to get some food, and still had to text that you missed me. To fill the void, I had no choice but to write a poem about being alone.
From the train, tree tops blur by like fast paced days.
How could you reject me?
Let me count thy ways. ….
I.
Why do straight people feel the need to whisper right as they say the word “gay”?
Yet when labeling a “dyke” or “fag” they aren’t mindful with what they say?
Maybe we need to redefine our slang?
There are some words that just shouldn’t be colloquial.
II.
Then there are times when they don’t seem to notice you.
Like when your sister notes that the girls need to step up their wedding game,
but fail to acknowledge your engagement ring…
III.
They ghost themselves from our relationship as if closing their eyes mean we don’t exist.
If your mom refuses to speak to me, then I remain in the abyss…
Since when have closing our eyes and plugging our ears become the solution to anything?
IV.
Sometimes I feel like a pollutant.
Like the litter that people drive by as they say,
someone should pick that up…
Like I’m too filthy too be touched.
I don’t like where this is going…
I don’t like the way your Christianity is showing.
V.
Since when is it ok to throw relationships to the wayside to avoid the discomfort of getting dirty?
Can’t you see that your relationship with your daughter is getting lost in the debris-
From the smog and the smoke screens that have been placed in between
for the sake of keeping your “cup” clean?
When the truth is, all of our dishes are hand-me-down.
No one eats off of a plate straight from the box without washing it first.
And washing away your presence only heightens the hurt.
Our relationships would not be as easy to swallow if it were not for kneading through the dirt.
I don’t believe Christ ever wanted us to scrub out our love from those that we see as being stained.
Because the truth is, even He
took the time to cradle us
before he was slain.
I wish that I could hug her
like the reflection of city lights pressed against the harbor,
glistening:
Her eyes smiling above her cheeks.
We stand listening
to the silence,
as our bodies speak
the distance out of existence
once our chests meet.
Be yourself,
not what everyone else is.
You see, as humans we are selfish.
Until it comes to swag,
then when all wanna be selfless as
we place ourselves on these shelves
like shellfish
allergies we swell.
Thinking that these fabrications, they will sell
with the fabric in which we dwell we
costume our identities as we
consume the snacks that
society sneaks us.
Beneath color coded wrappers, primed to please us, we’ve
failed to see the way our securities have breeched us.
No trust
can exist if
we cannot trust ourselves
to be ourselves, how
can we trust one another?
Shivering, I’m standing, watching cars drive pass.
Neck swiveling, I pan in, making eye contact with a driver through his glass.
Red lights prevent us all from hitting the gas in “rough” neighborhoods.
The same places for where we collect canned goods.
The same faces we never truly see, unless intentions are misunderstood.
Like when a man stops at the bench behind me,
to pull a ski mask out of his bag.
He immediately gets my attention.
My numb hands now feel the tension.
Exhales caught in misty suspension.
My flight mode is pending.
His arms are bending toward his bowing head.
His hands are mending face with thread.
And Like the black space of this sunless morning, his identity sheds.
The lights lose their reds,
The drivers turn their heads,
and the man steadily treads-
off into the arms of his 9-5,
armored in his man-made fabric,
which has ben crafted,
to protect his heart from the sting
of nature’s frigid hold.
(Psychological Conflict: Trust vs. Mistrust)
At the bus stop a woman digs into the trash,
searching for satisfaction
for a need that mother America has failed to meet.
She picks up and tosses aside
until her thin fingers fall
upon a box of abandoned french fries.
My mom offers the extra meal
that the McDonald’s man had slipped inside her bag.
The woman takes the burger
to examine it with her nose-
Is it 100% beef? she asks.
Excuse me? my mom responds.
Is it 100% beef? the woman repeats-
the burger still at her nose.
My mom speculates, Yes …
before returning to the blue bench
from where she glares,
at the lady nibbling in the August sun.
There’s nothing like the smell of weed and syrup in the morning, as I weave through my thoughts and reflect on my past. They approach me like the headlights of oncoming traffic in the night, leaving yellow lines in my eyesight from staring for too long into the distance.
I need some body to lead me through this city, where the sidewalks are covered with litter and pee. It’s not hard to see how people struggle with their sanity. As they seek the balance between expressing their frustrations and waiting patiently. My whole life I aimed to wait effortlessly. Locked my emotions in cages like inmates in Cell Block B.
Bravo! To those whom are well behaved.
Bravo! To those whom saved themselves from lashing out against this broken system.
Bravo! To the man whom sells himself short just to play by the rules.
Sometimes, following the rules make us look like fools
and
cause us to break our loved ones hearts.
Sometimes, rules rip us apart.
Sometimes, rules rip out our hearts-
and
turn our bodies into breathing machines that can only follow streams of code. Over time our compassion erodes as humanity explodes from the grenades of our “truthful” words. Sometimes, we need more than words.
We need you-
to hold our pain tightly
against your chest, so that we know
your heart is still beating.
We are all searching for the sun.
In all of its modesty-
We Stand
beneath it’s clouds,
peering through pinholes,
discovering new ways
of
looking at the moon.