Chasing Dreams

I like the way sadness
envelops me in her arms

but she is not
the romantic type

I thought that I could just say hello to you and you would be mine.

A bomb never born is the worst

kind of bomb. The threat is always

hot on my cheek but the slap

never comes. The ticktocking

gets quicker with every flap of my arms

and the impact takes on exponents

with every death that I do not die but

I feel like I am dead. Shrapnel pokes

my ribs with each breath that I dare take,

cutting deeper once my heart has

found a comforting niche.

The ticking is deafening.

It gets louder drum by drum

drum by hum and hum by thump

and I always wonder when it

will peak but it follows no rules.

I hear each bludgeon to my body

and yet I cannot see them because

the bombs never hatch.

I have drowned in sweat.

I have drowned in sweat

by threat and threat alone.

But puffs of oxygen still use my

throat as a means of transportation

and I’m not sure what that makes me.

A word so fragile
and crumbling -
you must fill it
with hot breaths
of whispers
to keep it afloat

Just make sure
that your
whispers warm
like the hands of
a found lover,
not like the hands of
a flaring cancer cell

I know what it’s like to die

My heart has skipped and stopped
and danced around in puddles
and skidded in the Sandy grounds

The fall, the moment
I’m no longer standing
and not yet on the ground,
is the only part I don’t know

The others though,
they don’t know death

They still sleep,
immortal for the time being

They’ll have that shocked look
(you know the one)
when the bullet hits,
act like they’re surprised
something like this
could happen

Something like this
could happen

I’ll laugh
and shake my head a little
once I’m on the floor
because at least I’ll be
expecting it

It’s a Friday night
and I’m writing
fucking poetry
while you’re probably
trying to find someone
to sleep with for the night

I probably don’t
want you to read this
and I probably don’t
want to write this

and yet here I am
writing this
and hoping that
for some
completely unknown
reason
you’re reading this

a generation
obsessed with
the birth of
synchronized mouths
and the suicide of
giving a fuck

we groupthink
and slaughter the
think

ing
about
grouping
together
our souls
so we can
save on gas

the bus allows
for more opinions
to be drowned
into a drone

and we like our
chances of
making it
as one bullet
in a massacre

The color of my eyes
has not yet been noted
by any other human being

I keep people a body’s length away
(if only so I can see them properly)
but they still manage to peck me

Sometimes I cry for them
I’m not saying that I weep
but I do crumble at the equator

I like the way they walk
but they tend to circle
and I get dizzy considerably

I don’t know what it’s like
to congregate, but I imagine
it’s sunny over there

You smiled at me today
and I got the feeling that
we would meet again
in poetry

Sadness is chasing me
but I’ve won many races before

I’ve been drunk
many times before

on dreams

on liquor

It won’t quite
be the same

My head will
feel fuzzy

My legs will
stagger slow

My heart will
grow warmer

But my eyes
will not glow

Why you had not heard from me before now and why you will not hear from me again


Little humans

With your
fists up
guns out
tongues hot

Swarming the
intersection of
skin shade
&
faith taste

Licking your lips
for a soft spot
along the throat

And
you think
savagery
is a myth

I am           suffocating
in a world           full
of        empty                      space

I fill it
again
         &
            again
with         important
things

but the
             empty                    space
just
gets                                                 bigger


I              don’t know
which
           will
                                    kill me

the weight of
important
things
or
 

I like the way you sprinkle

t    e    a    r    d    r    o    p    s

on the ones you root for most

We come here
to leave a mark
(or erase one)

but instead
we leave marks
on each other
and leave
the earth
untouched