Better the devil,
I know.

I told him,
I crave novelty. Ha.
Right now, I crave
the comfort of
the familiar,
the devil.

It wasn’t a lie.
More than one thing can be true at the same time.
Yes, And

I’m trying to be grateful
embrace the new, unknown, exciting
but
it’s scary, so
better the devil

joy
is so unfamiliar
and
grief
is so near

all the things
i hate about myself
he hates about me
I already know

better the devil,
I know.

insane, courageous, stupid

My friends say
I’m the eternal
optimist
because I see
things as they could be
and try
to make them
pull them
into reality

but you know who else
sees
things that are not there?

schizos and
psychos
so what, does that
make me?
insane?

is dreaming and living
in fantasy
courageous?

no.
for believing
in you?
stupid.

Not Punishment

Why is it still raining?

Because you still miss him

who?

her.

Am I being punished? I thought I was
a good girl.

No, it’s not punishment.
It’s not rain.
Your tears keep falling.

When will they stop?

Wait. Stop. Don’t.

Come back.

Your words
My poor heart.
My heart
is gone

It has turned into a hundred
butterflies
orange and black
flutter against a pale blue,
they return

be still, my heart.

statistically speaking

I’ll never,
it’s unlikely I will.

according to statistics,
The numbers don’t lie,
I’m just not the one.
so, who am i?
…statistically speaking.

insignificant
an outsider outlier

I failed
Stats,
so I probably
don’t know-

my probability
is it low?
the odds
stacked against,
but
the data still doesn’t show
what does it
know?

the numbers,
statistically speaking,
don’t dictate
for me
how far
I can
go.

Today

Today
a body ruled
over mine
what I’ve always known

my brown skin
is a guilty verdict
my beauty, my love, my life,
a crime

what about my laughter?
my writings-
my secrets
and desires
all
evidence
against me

my life is unearned
my peace is mis-placed
my achievements and hopes
borrowed and deferred

my voice
is a threat,
my existence –
criminal

how can a single body
outlaw
hundreds of thousands of bodies
criminalize
our hands, our hearts, our gifts?

what’s so guilty
guilt ridden
about my body

shouldn’t the body be
refuge
where we find
humanity
outstretched arms
for the tired, weary
huddled

there is only white
and brown
right and wrong
innocent
and shades of suspicion

They want us to answer
for our brown skin
but
is it a sin
to have my great-grandmother’s
moxie
and my great-grandfather’s
melanin?

so, we wait, we pray, we hope
we fight
for tomorrow
to not be like today

.

.

.

.

.

.

*Today- Monday, Sept 8th

she slips away

sept 22nd
she will say good bye
but for now
she lingers

I feel her trace the shape
of my arms
her warmth
on my face
and neck

she says
she will be back
but when she is gone
it is dark and cold
and I am
abandoned
again

i cant help
but look for her
beg for her
on the horizon
to return-
just a bit faster;
to linger-
just a little longer

dont go
i plead, inwardly
but instead
i say nothing

if she knows
how much i depend on her
maybe she would never
return

i pretend to enjoy
the coziness against the cold and hostile
and bury myself
under a heap of blankets and papers
watching my breath
in the cold frigid nights
knowing
she wouldn’t have wanted this
for me

maybe shes afraid, too
of coming too close
burning me
losing me
but
she could never

she leaves me
limerent and flushed
with her affection and attention

there is no one like her
i close my eyes
and feel her
slip away