Finding You in the Bottom of the Glass

This isn't easy to write, you know?
It's Christmas Eve, and instead
of sleeplessness because of presents -
I get to wrestle with the demons you left me.

Wandering around the busy malls and stores,
I swear I see you around every shelf and corner,
I try to laugh and make your face disappear,
yet I can hear your laugh over mine still.

Whiskey and cigarettes,
here's to drowning and burning the memories away,
Christmas and New Year's will eventually pass,
maybe the memories of you will just be a
bad taste in my mouth.

Coup de Grace

The sun sets on another day without you,
no tears were shed,
no curling into a ball and pleading for your return,
I lived another day without the pain of you hanging on my back,
I've set the memories of you on fire,
I'm not gonna stop until they burn.

I have this much pain built up,
this fire will last a while,
how does a person not see what a monster you were,
how was I blind for almost a year running?
I've only realized how angry I've become,
how many missed chances that I never took,
how many smiles that you ripped off with a look of daggers and ice.

I roll over and look at her face,
No longer do I hide my affection pouring from every throbbing inch of me,
She's everything that you never were,
Here I thought you were my coup de grace.

One Week Later

Every single nightmare I had while we dated is gone,
I'm able to stop worrying, stop fretting,
I can close my eyes and not be afraid
of what fresh hell awaits when I open them,
It has been a week, and I am already on my way
to forgetting you.

I no longer curl up into a ball when I think of you,
I've laughed harder and louder then when I was with you,
I smile without grimacing or hoping no one sees
the mask I'm wearing,
I can bloody eat cheese again!

I know you will call this narcissism or egomania or selfish behavior -
but too long did I concede for you,
too long did I let myself be lost to
whatever fancy or whim entered your mind.

It's been a week, and already your name is vanishing
from my lips,
already the memories of the feel of your skin
and the sight of your smile
leaves me,

I know this will take time, longer than I figure,
but I will be over you,
I won't go somewhere or do something and be
thrashed by the memories we had,
It will take time, but soon you will be a distant lesson
in what not to do in my life,
soon you will be what was - not what is.

You may never read this, but this is my final goodbye,
I'm moving on to sweeter airs and stronger loves,
I should worry about you and what pain has been caused,
but after searching within, no longer will the pain be inside,
This is me moving on, without doubt,

whether it is right or wrong,
this is me opening my eyes, seeing what newness awaits me tomorrow.

Truthful Breakdown

I used to yearn for your body at 3 am,
cry out for your voice in the morning,
dream of your smiles every second,
but what happened to the rings on my fingers,
what happened to the diamonds of emotions,
reflecting back what I thought were perfect memories.

Now I sit alone, pounding my head,
what the hell happened to us, to me?
I never questioned anything between us,
I wanted only beauty and fun,
but when we finally came back together,
we were no longer the same.

Anxiety and depression rotted the bond away,
both were clinging by barely a thread,
it only took me to realize that we weren't working,
the thread went up in flames.

I can't help but utter these awful words,
I don't know if I can help you through yours,
I'm racking my brain against my own anxiety,
and I don't know if I can say I love you anymore,
if I don't even love myself anymore.

I Love...

When you smiled at me for the first time,
when you laugh at one of my stupid jokes,
the different ring to the word when you called me "dork,"

When I realized that I looked forward to you being near me,
your complete love for things that people easily ignore,
the first time our skin touched, even if on accident, but destined,

When I had my first day-dream of us cuddled in bed,
When I opened up and showed you my emotional scars, and you showed me yours and said,
"look, they complete each other.."

When I roll over, and you are still there and it all wasn't a dream,
When you held my hand, as you introduced me to your folks,
the look in your eyes when I call out your name,

When you kiss me good morning, and kiss me good night,
when your happiness became my happiness,
the moment when you whisper in my ear,
"I love you."

Sobering Statistics

I'm tired of talkin' regular, and no one listenin', so I'm goin' to have to shout this one, and y'all will have to listen.

Let's see...It all started when I was 16, I came out as bi, and was instantly shouted down, being called a "faggot queen." You see, I lied to myself, desperate to get away from hate, I pushed myself back into the closet, not wanting to make family and friends irate. I wanted to be myself, but I also wanted to fit in, I turned to religion and church, whispered my plan to God, and he turned me around and said, guess again. I fed the sick and needy, held the lame and dying, clothed the naked, and gave room to the homeless. I saw that no matter what I did, problems still grew around me. I saw no help from the churches, no kind words or donations from pulpits or peoples. I grew stale in my love for fellow man, pushed away all who thought I was less than. I came out again, sashay and sequins, feather boas and bling-blingin'. I gave hope to those who could find none, kind words and prayers to the broken, love to the unwanted, trying to bring truth to the dishonest. I found out some things, about my fellow loving man, somethings that hurt themselves, but more often others.

This is where there are no rhymes. There are no jokes. There are no pleas. This is no longer where I sit silent. I'm going to say this, and it's going to hurt. We aren't doing enough.

153 million orphaned,
1.7 million youth homeless,
40% of them are lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender.

You wanna know why that number is mind-boggling high? 680,000 homeless lgbt youth? Does that give you a sick taste, a horrible gut feeling, a want to hold your nearest child, brother, or sister?

No? Then you're the problem. Those kids, their first bully? Mom and Dad and the rest of their family. No? Do I have to call upon the names of the angels who died this last year from suicide because their lives got so rough, that the final solution, was the only solution? Let me shout this one for the birds in the rafters, the rats under the floor boards, and for those ignoring me in the back;
If you give birth to your child, and say you don't care who they mature into, and then, as they grow older, they don't become what you want them to be - you. never. loved. them. You only loved your idea of them. You daughter is now Jack? Oh, you kicked him out, you turned your back, and you made his life hell. Your son is gay, he's just come out, looking for support, and you shot him down and made him lie in the dirt. You never realized that with your words leaving your mouth, that they would be the powder for the bullets, the knots in the noose, the breeze to push them over the cliff. They weren't the problem, you were.

I'll say it again, if your children aren't who you wanted them to be, you never loved them. You loved the idea of them. And you failed them.

Thank You.

No Longer Preachin' To The Choir

Dearest brothers and sisters of our most holy, more amazing, most awe-inspiring fellowship of word smiths, jumping jive janglers, sensual sirens, and confessional characters;

Every time I get up in front of you, I like to think I bare a little bit of my soul, share a little bit of my weathered heart. Bringin' forth some truths that may be a bit hard to swallow. Seasonin' your ears with fire spittin' out of my mouth.

I've talked at you about myself being a humble man, a hopeful man, a loving man, a broken man, an imperfect man.

I've talked at you about various social and religious plagues that not only inhabit our society, but have festered within us all, yours truly included.

I've talked about hypocrisies within society, unfair treatment of our brethren, making right with those we have wronged, loving those who have never seen love.

I've talked about all of this, to you, and still, I see some problems in our congregation.

Now, I'm done preachin' to the choir, I know most of you can testify to seeing these plights as well, so I'm going to speak to the rest of the congregation. I'm going to light a little fire under their seats. I'm going to make them sweat with discomfort, weep with jubilation, moan in ecstasy, and then I'm going to open my mouth.

So sit back, dear choir, because this young preacher is about to lay down the universal law.

Star-wrapped Lovers

Arctoe et Draco,

Bär und Drache,

Ours et Dragon,

Even the stars knew

That we would be together,

Ursa and Draco.

How tightly you wrap

Your claws and wings

And serpentine scaled

Body around mine.

We never dip into the sea

With each end or beginning

Of night, so too do

We not lose ourselves when

The other is no longer in

Our sight.

Ursa and Draco,

Bear and Dragon,

Together to love,

Together to last.

Lirica

The sea breeze bounces and rolls across the deck,

Flittering and fluttering and flapping

Towels and sun hats and every other cloth aboard.

The ship, at port, a standing floating

Maritime megalith of momentous Mediterranean

Class of cruise-liners.

Only at sea does one feel the pulse of life aboard –

Not just the sounds of every European tongue wagging,

But the subtle underfoot vibration of powerful engines,

The soft clinking and ice-in-metal clunking

Of the master of the mix-and-shake-and-pour,

The almost echo of metal knife-and-fork scraping

Against the glass and ornamental dishware within

The luxurious main dining areas.

This, all of this, just felt moments after stepping

Onto this sea-bound
Lirica.

3 am....

I never wanted my lips to miss yours,
my eyes to miss the sight of your smile,
the scent of you gone from around me.

I never wanted myself to fall so hard,
to be up at 3 am pacing the ceiling,
memorizing each line of grain of the wood
as I call out for you in my mind,
wishing, waiting, hoping to hear a response.

It isn't hell anymore when I hold you in my arms,
your naked smooth, supple, voluptuous skin against mine,
your every curve resting and blending with mine,
your fingers lightly tracing the veins up my arms,
lacing their way entwined with my fingers,
your lips slowly making soft moist craters against my skin
as you descend ever lower against me...

Oh, how I miss you at 3:30 am,
my mind imagining sins
that our bodies make
during each daily confession of love,
how I miss you now, as I roll over, and
you are not beside me...

Stipulations of Religion

Sometimes it's the broken church,
the sad church,
the church with the smashed and missing
stained glass windows -

that is the better church,
the truer church,
the more godly church
for which your and my god(s) are meant
to be honored in -

sometimes it's the church that has broken pews,
has an attendance of barely three,
sometimes it's the church that has a
belfry barely held up by worn-weathered-wood -

it's not always the biggest church,
the shiniest church,
the church with a thousand parishioners,
the perfect church can be a clearing in the woods,
a bus-stop confessional,
under the over-pass bridge where the
young and broken and homeless
stay away from all of the pain that they feel each new day -

Don't always look for your god(s) in the shiny church,
don't always look for your spirituality in a
room with everyone that looks and prays like you,
don't always look for salvation from a faith built in a house of gold.

You'll find your god(s), your spirituality,
your salvation from within first,
if not there,
 then in the faces of those you won't dare look at.

Don't pray in a marble cathedral,
if you're afraid of praying in a
fallen wooden church first.

Breathing "I Love You"s...

I'm in the room where sleep should be had,
but instead pacing and cursing and
sadness is clinging to the walls,
putrid emotional wallpaper held on by tacks
of self-doubts and self-anger and self-denial -

I hear the words leaving my mouth, and I
watch as they float across the room,
hijackers of emotional terrorism
stealing and flying planes of feelings
into the pillars within your soul, the
light fading from your eyes as I see
the doubt fire from my lips to pierce your heart -

You're out of the room, having left to
do self-triage on the wound that bottled alcohol
and bottled anxiety and bottled depression caused,
You're out of the room where you felt a second emotion against
love from my lips, where you watched me fall apart,
where you saw my inner most bare beast and even then,
you let your fear go, and you held on as I tore through my
worst mistakes and fears like thin sheets in the wind,
you wouldn't let me go...
and I dared your heart to a competition,
to see if it knew what I really was like on the
inside, and you called my bluff -

You left the room, because even in my most un-sober moment,
I twirled further into the ball of doubt and anxiety
that I wound with each new breath,
and you left the room,
to take everything all said
and done and cried and lied about;
into context.
You don't care that I find myself some days
sinking ever deeper,
ever farther down into the insanity that
plagues my family -
you don't care about any of that.

You tell me that no matter how far I fall, how long I sink,
how deep I go into my own darkness that seems to never leave me -
you tell me that no matter what,
you'll never leave me,
that you will be there to catch me when I fall,
to pull me back up from the bottom of the drink,
to bring the light into my life with every touch
and laugh and brush of your lips on mine.
You see me at my worst, hold up a mirror, and say,

"See, even now, you're the most beautiful beast,
so don't let your tears stain your scars
and don't let your fears cloud the bright skies in your mind.
Let everything go, and let the warmth grow,
because with every breath you breathe,
you have to relearn to un-clench your fist,
and let your failures and fears go.
This won't be easy, and it won't be undemanding,
but with every breath in, you call out my name,
and with every breath out,

you breathe an 'I love you'."

I'm Right (Push, Pull)

Be thin, be fast,
be funny, be sexy,
be yourself, be like us,
be with a ton of sexual partners,
be with only one partner,
push, pull,
push, pull,

Have large muscles, be gangly,
be a jock, be a nerd,
it's ok to be gay,
get back in the closet you poof,
push, pull,
push, pull,
push, pull,

Died a hero, died a wreck,
Painted smile, honest sadness,
you'll never do anything wrong,
why can't you do anything right?
push, pull,
push, pull,
push, pull,

Enough is enough, I'm taking a stand,
Enough is enough, I'm going to lie down,
Enough is enough, who're you to tell me what to do,
Enough is enough, who right or wrong anymore,
Enough is enough, I'm through with the push and pull,
Enough is enough, maybe I'm wrong and they're right?
push, pull.

I hate Sudoku

There once was a man named Michael,
Who sucked so hard at Sudoku he cried till,

His headache was gone,

He got to move on,

And do something less painful.

Amor Vincit Omnia

Looking up,
a warm spring night,
a plaid blanket beneath
the two lovers beneath
the midnight black sky -

Little then,
they now know now,
what their lives
would be like -

Adventures across time
and across space,
across living room carpets
and bedroom candle-lit dates -

Little did they know,
the lovers two,
that when they made love,
a life began a-new -

Under the midnight black sky,
two lovers hold each other tight,
staring up at the red speck,
from the earth to Mars,
they soon realize that,
the sky-

it's full of stars...

Cold Water Flat

It was near 2 am, his third rum-and-coke almost gone, the sounds of Muddy Waters, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Buddy Guy, and Etta James croonin', bluesin', and groovin' from his record player on the spare chair in the corner - the record covers and sleeves strewn about the floor a-mix-with empty wine bottles, crushed and ashed cigs, paper-wad piles, and the occasional crumb-infested dish and cup. It had been less than a week since his fiancee had left with his brother - and still he was propped against the cold-water-flat wall which his mattress lay against on the floor. Life was seeming to suck and spin-out, all the while keeping him around for new hells, and yet, with each new cig, each new idea crumpled into piles, each less-coke-and-more-rum concoction poured down his throat, he seemed to live for another night - until his new nightly ritual began again.

When he wasn't pissed-drunk on the floor, he worked day-shift for security at one of the last remaining Five-and-Dimes in flat Midwest Ohio. Hardly anyone came into the store, so he could sneak in the odd drink-and-smoke break during the day - his shift lasting from 9 am till 10 pm, sometimes he'd sneak out around 6 pm and grab a cold draft at the bar down the road, dodging work for the last four hours as draft after draft piled up, shot and shot, drink after drink until the bartender threw him into a cab, paying the cabbie out of pity yet again, where the cabbie threw him back against the wall on the mattress, where he would reach over and pop open a bottle of coke, pouring it and some rum he had lying around into a cup, his ritual beginning again.

However, tonight, as his cheap wrist-watch beeped at 2:30, he slumped down into bed, looking up at the roof above him, mold and water damage threatening the roof to cave in at any minute. His past week playing again for the fourth time that night - his fiancee giving him the news, his brother wanting his hand in blessing and congratulations, the rushed marriage, the rice being thrown and the hand-me-down coupe with cans tied with strings speeding away from the church as his mother cried and his father held her close. He remembered walking down the road some, past shops and churches - couples coming out of every wood work, seemingly to spite him, Fate thumbing his mockery into his face. He found the bus stop, and paid the fee, heading into the big city a few hours away, renting a cheap dive of a flat, and holing up - wallowing and drinking away into self-pitied hells.

He closed his eyes, the alcohol sloshing away the last of the pain, the night finally swallowing him up.

It was near 4 am, his record player playing silence from the chair in the corner, empty rum and wine bottles littered around, broken and given-up-on dreams crumpled into little paper mountains, smoked cigs cold on the floor, dishes piled up near the door - when the roof fell in, second floor becoming the new first. He never woke to feel it, never woke to hear his end approach around him, he never knew what was to come of him, never knew that on the floor above him; in their cozy little honeymoon flat, his brother and ex-fiancee were asleep in bed when their floor caved in dropping them down into a piss-hole of a room, where only the landing woke the newly-weds.

Life and Fate got him down, but only at the end did they get him, in the cold water flat...

Why Poetry? (An Addict's Confession)

Why poetry? 
Why not other short stories or novels or plays? 
Why poetry?

A poem can be as long as centuries of lives,
or as short as a single breath,

it can be throwing you into the deep end of realism,
or it can be the relaxation of muscles
because you know how to swim in it's waters,

it can be images of vast spaces of galaxies and stars and nothingness,
or it can be exploding kaleidoscopic orgasmic everything.

Why poetry?

It can be slower than the soft rain dribbling
and trailing down your windshield on a cold autumn day.

It can be faster than the nearly
forgotten dream bringing a grin to your face.

Why poetry? 
Short stories and novels are truest works of literary wit and wonder - 
they can show the tiniest cracks on the facade of the perfect life.

Ahh, yes, that is true for those, but poetry can do that and so much more -
poetry has the ability
to make the loneliest man dance in a hall with strangers,
to make souvenirs of the memories of the first kiss
with the girl who had cherry lip gloss on her lips,
to make late-night vulgar bodily seances
to the boy who could make his fingers dance in just the right spots
that would make your body, your lips,
your fingers and toes quiver and tingle
with excitement and nervousness
and lust.

Poetry may be as old as dirt, and my not as be as prominent
as your King
or your Meyer
or your James,
but every few years, some poem, some person comes along and shakes things up;

Whispering songs about themselves,
giving great barbaric yawps,
comparing love to shrubbery,
retelling stories of wars and attacks,
telling us how the greatest minds of generations were hungry, mad, and naked...

Why poetry?

Because everyday you go through life
breathing in harshness, sadness, grim realities...

but you breathe out bittersweet poetry,
and that's
my
drug.

Advice from Strangers

Just as everyone asks the 100 year old men and women
how they lived for so long,
I ask the every man and woman
how they survived depression,
madness, thoughts of anger and
utter despair.

Raw eggs, a life away from sugar and nicotine,
no sex since the 20's -
will the old say,

Long walks, staring off into sunsets and counting stars,
hearing the truth in the music and seeing the lies in life -
will the survivors say.

Live and love yourself, they'll all say,
jump on the last train, or plane, or bus to anywhere,
find out where the secrets of the big cities
breathe, sleep, fuck, and play,

It isn't about sitting back, and looking in the past,
you've got to lift your head up,
get up out of the gutters where you stare at the stars,
and take the knife out of your hands,
put the pills and drink down,
and start walking -

Move to a new town,
Meet new friends,
Eat new foods,
Love someone new.

The whole point isn't to stare into the past
to divine great moments of the future,
it isn't the point to relive painful moments of our lives,
flogging ourselves with barbs from breakups.

How did you live,
when you were at life's peak,
when it was at it's worst,
I'll ask -

We opened our eyes, and finally
learned to live,
they'll say.

Cosmic Intentions

I can not imagine a world without you,
it would be dark and lonely.
I would not want to live in such a place -
for you are not just some star in the heavens,
you are my sun,
with which you give me life.

How could I not fall for her -
a love of brun and noir,
for when the sun shines
through her hair -
passions, intensity,
fire and smoke burn through,
raven's wings breathe in.

It's not fair, a lover so far away,
because of you my demons remain at bay,
I've given offering of sanity and age
but no matter how close I get,
you seem to stay close, but too far away.

I can not imagine a world without you,
it would be cold and lifeless.
I would not build a house or home there -
for you are not just some girl on this earth,
you are my everything,
with which I measure my heartbeat.

A Siren Against the Storm

And there we were,
standing only feet apart,
but it felt like you were
oceans away, with only
a little ferry of our love
to keep our islands afloat.

When you turned & walked
away, every levee & dam
broke, spilling over my
guards, tearing down my
walls, washing my
heart away.

It's Over

You stole the thunder out of my chest,
the lightning died from my heart,
the rain fell heavy, flooding my eyes.

There's a thing about dreams -
             even nightmares are
             in your wildest fantasies.

A Breath from Our Destiny

We're standing on the red brick road,
approximately ten to nowhere,
five from anywhere,
East form the far-reaching horizon,
West from any form of journey -

We are standing on a plane of reality,
knowing that with any step in any direction
we break the spell of momentary peace from
our
orenda.

We step towards each other,
East & West finally meeting,
a breath from our destiny,
the veins of the bricks finally pumping
as we take each other into our arms
and
-

Mad at Him

I was always mad at him,
not because he truly did anything wrong -
he was true to himself,
and I was mad he never noticed me -
until I realized
I
was blind,
and he had always seen me,
and he had fallen for me,
and I became mad,
for not
noticing him
noticing me.

Rambling from a Drunken Kid

It is within the mood of a single person that a whole group is affected -
a double ripple in a shallow mirror pond.

But, when the person retains a new emotion or idea,
that the new ripples of the pond reverberate against the old -
either canceling out all and creating mirror-like state

or creating a whole new kind of third ripple wave state,
that either makes the group reflect & rebound,
or the single person is thrust into a new being

that their whole being is created into a tertiary state -
that they have learned from the mirror and new state,
that the tertiary state has become a third person.

C. & A.

          It wasn't really in the way that they held each other 

when they laid together on the bed, 

          it wasn't the way that their hands 

seemed to find each other from across the table, 

          it was that their love was best felt throughout the air 

when they would look at each other, 

          either from across the table or from across the room, 

or even from across the planes of space & time - 

           their love could be felt by all...

Why Bears?

"Why bears?" she asked.

"Because they're big, and versatile. They live alone yet remain communal. They look after themselves, but will kill for their young. When you look into the eyes of a bear, you see not emptiness, but the souls of humans' brethren."

"But they can kill you!"

"Yes, but so can everything else - including humans, including yourself. It isn't right to worry about the banal trivialities of what can kill you. You're gonna go when you go - either at the hands of yourself or something else. So instead of worrying; go for a walk in the woods, dance in the rain, drink a little Jack, have amazing sweaty passionate sex. Do something with your life that even Mother Nature will be awed."

"Those hours of meditation and long walks really have helped, haven't they?"

"You have no idea..."

Ultimatum

It's not the gun pressed to our heads,
it's not the knife pressed into our throats,
it's the religious bickering, the classist rivalry,
it's the societal backlash, the fear and oppression.

Ferguson, Fairborn, New York City,
#BlackLivesMatter, Leelah Alcorn, Je Suis Charlie,
the bombing at the NAACP building in Colorado -
is this the 1960's? Have we lost our ever fucking minds?
People dying needlessly every day, over what?

Oh he looks dangerous, he's carrying a pop gun -
Oh he's a large black man, must be dangerous -
Oh they made fun of someone who doesn't exist, blow them up -

I'm fairly certain your saviors didn't die for you just so you
could hate on someone, discriminate against someone, kill someone.

It isn't that we're paranoid about someone killing us -
It isn't that we're afraid that someone will discriminate us -
It's not that we don't love that you hate us -
we're just tired of standing on our ancestors' graves,
hearing you shout poison, same poison from the past
just in all new slang.

So here's what we're going to do -
throw down our guns, throw away the hate, get rid of the pain,
feed, clothe, and shelter the homeless
take care of the sick and needy
make sure, no matter what "sin" they have, your neighbor is ok -
you weren't put on this earth to judge, so why are you -
the sooner we learn to love one another, the sooner the pain will end -

So what do you say, stop hating and just be friends?
No?
We'll exist without you.

Free

I felt your gun fire at me,
I felt the bullet hit my side,
I felt every lie hit my heart,
and none of your mess could stick.

I'm free from your pain,
I'm free from the tears,
I'm free from being torn to shreds,
now no longer wanting to die.

So what will happen with your love,
will it pass on to some other fool,
will you seal their fate with a kiss,
or will you realize that your through?

I'm standing free on top of a grave,
no longer my own,
now all of life feels completely real,
no longer dealing unforgiving flames.

I'm free from your sight,
free from any worry,
free from tears,
free from everything.

I'm free from you.