refusal of the fittest

i refuse to write about you
poems that are telling of romance
of plans for the future
that tell one, like they tell me
"you are too far ahead, in your mind,
you are thinking, too far in advance,"
and this is true, my friend
he tells me and reminds me
you should go, go see him
he likes you, i think
i know he is right but i am scared shitless
to begin, again
if this poem is not about you
i can't lose right? i only win
so i won't write you in lines
or create stories about our future
how it could be, it is
because it is not a big deal,
it is just a thing
i like, a lot, right now.

the past remains

i wrote a lot of poems that year
i cried a lot
i think i was more in love with ideas
or words, the thoughts that kept you here
in silence, like ghosts
when the truth was, really
you are not here, you were never mine
one can never be owned by someone else
but still, i find myself sitting here, hoping
wishing that someone, anyone, will call me "mine"

the hopeful

i was once
all black holes and sunsets
and now i'm all
this is what i need, not what i want
some days the sun rises nearer
on east side of my cloudy apartment window
i look out and i wonder
how the hell did i get here?

it creeps in
seeping through cracked
twice painted over ceilings
and door frames
forget it
don't you
remember, the laughter will rescue you
will save you
and i will be there
crawling beneath
inching towards you
uncovering the blankets
they surround you
as you shiver
i plea bargain
you
wake around this shivering space
clatters like any other heartbeat
fallen
inconsistent.

demonghost

I was given a nickname, I was ten.
It seems that with each inch forward
that i take my demon reappears
i was given a name once
that i used to deny history
appropriate the short hand
term for "i don't speak your language."
but privilege
reprimands me
my gut, my bowl, my body
my poor, deep, shallow
well of silence
come back to us
i whisper enough
i can choose not to be
caught in the ropes and chains
the barriers of cultures and society's differences
yes, you are the one that's caught me here
alone in voice
all caught in throat
so throw me, far as the ends will meet me
and catch me, fly heavy my body, my cell
my block in the ocean, remains a rock version
of my heart.