last call

these voices aren’t yours no matter how much i scream.

these hands will never feel like yours, even as they grip me

these lips on me can’t be as sweet as you no matter the number of kisses left on me.

the sex won’t be the same without your frame in our bed.

I thought it was OUR bed.

you left me & our bed has been empty no matter how many people fill it.

my life is equivalent to a graveyard full of dead memories.

The places we went seem like wakes

the people who remembered me & you together are the mourners.

each new body the enters our bed a flower put on the casket.

each night more of your memory dies

even as the sun rises and their scents fade, you’re fading too

each time I look at the photos i remember the rain

the drops of moisture

broken glass

your casket

our bed

your funeral

our future

your gone

i’m still here



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The little heart that could

Thinking about you is something I rarely do. It’s been close to 10 years & I’m still here reviewin your case. It hits me like bricks that it ended with your hits. 

You said you liked me

Respected me 

Celebrated me. 

Reality has struck again 

I was speaking to you. 

You never spoke back. 

You held me contempt.

 I worked to be good enough for you, forgetting my crown letting you put me down. 

I was good to you,  at least I think so. People around us said so. Almost bought you a prom dress it was that serious. I got your measurements. 

Each time you won I showed you love from your 4.6 gpa to your championships, SAT scores, college acceptance. 

You were a light to me. looking back you tried snuffing me out. Your words I took to be a challenge.
Your insults a rallying cry to show you different. I should have believed what you showed me. 

Your words predated you hands. 

Your hands that once held me, forcedo me to act. You struck me. 

I never saw it coming I’m at least 8 inches tall, a lot heavier, much stronger than you understood. 

Grabbing you & holding still, breaking up, losing my prom date beginning a downward spiral that would last 2 more years.  

Your hands shocked me. 

Me who was getting to the place to say “I love you”. 

You who would have been my first love. Became my first violent romantic relationship.

This morning it hit me.

You took what you learned at home & taught me.

Close to 10 years later I’m still stiching these wounds. 

You my 1st fist abused my love

You my 1st negative competitior beat down my joy

You my 1st of many things that mattered then abused me. 

Mentally, verbally & you tried physically. 

To my last girlfriend, my never lover you abused me. 


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Feeling sexy 

At home fresh out the shower

You’re on your way here

Jamming to these slow songs  

Meeting you at the door in a towel. 

Water dripping off my hair. 

Pulling you in & scooping you up. 

Your clothes on the floor 

Your backs on the door

I’m on my knees 

Your legs on my shoulder burying my tongue inside you. 

Feeling you dripping down my chin.

Your hands in my hair

You taste amazing. 

Lifting you higher 

Sliding inside you.  

Gripping your hips & you’re biting my neck. 

You feel soft & smelling like vanilla. 

Nails in my back. 

Kissing you deep & holding you close. 

These jams match my stroke. 

Your grip getting tighter
Closer you get to the edge 

Plunging over

Cumming everywhere.  

The music ends. Your lyft arrives. Your clothes are on. 

The only evidence of tonight is bites, bruises, scratches & magnum wrappers. 


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The kick

The thing is I’m irritated just not by the things you keep asking about. My irritation is the comments about my ride. You know the one you ride in every day. 

I’m irritated by the down play of my push thru attitude. I don’t want to stop in grieve there are objectivesome to hit.  Me stopping won’t help anyone. 

I’m irritated that you’ll be impressed when it’s just us. Let another enter the fray now your full of fun facts that I would have liked to know too. 

I’m not difficult. I’m just not easy in my ways. The things that irritate me male me better. .

The gag is I’m in pain. I don’t want help or that touchy Feely shit. I’m good with how I identify. I’m a goal seeker not the way feel.

I’m in pain 

I’m dealing with it. 


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Why now

You came home with blood under your nails. 

A name on your lips 

Juices coating your thighs.

You came home to me with empty hands & a half broken heart

Pockets full of dirt. 

On my feet you lay 

Weeping for those losses that you found outside. 

Unsure of how to comfort you

I chide you

Pick on you 

Finally I’m washing your feet. 

Running a bath for you 

Shampooing your hair. 

The blood comes away 

The juices are gone 

Your here again 

A full stomach hearty appetite fulfilled. 

You lay on my feet 

Drifting to sleep 


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hands up

it starts on my block with my friends

it’s a normal day of fun, games, grilling and chilling

we’ve been sipping, someone on the block is sparking

they put it in the air,

I’m sure we smell like it.

up the block is a liquor store that doubles like a general store.

we start to stroll there (we been sipping so no driving)

we’re a pride to behold on our supply stroll.

not even glancing at the people who happen to trail us

we could have seen their hurt filled eyes or even their shiny shields.

getting to the store we load up the carts

eggs… check

half smokes & buns…. check and check

Rum? which kind? Cruzan & Malibu… Got it

we pull more products down restocking our supply

we catch 1st the cashier’s eye. She say Hi

we catch securities eye. he signals the men outside

pulling up checking out

pulling out cash the bills hits $600.

We count it out to the T

security still looking.

we load up bags

putting them on our backs.

walking out the door

they hold us up asking about the cash we carry

wanting to see ID

grabbing our shirt, trying to see our ink

asking what set we claim.

We tell ’em Fuck off and push past

Cept I’m last out the door.

its six of them 1 of me

the head one flashes that shield his crew flashes their steel.

I’ve got my hands up & back down

I put my bag down hearing bottles clink.

the store owner demands we all leave

my boys are stuck outside waiting for me.

the phones come out when the chrome comes out.

They’re saying something about gang this or that

do I have any tats?

where I stay?

Any weapons on me?

I can’t process what they’re saying.

I’m only seeing the gun in my face

my life is in their hands, not a whole hand but a finger.

I pull out my ID

quelling their perception of my identity

they don’t see the hours I work with kids

or the degree i’m getting

the life laying before me.

instead they see all negatives that I call positives

from dreads (I call Locks)

to looking like the bloc (it’s the weekend so no Tie for me)

They say they smell weed (it’s in the air, but it ain’t me)

they’re not trying to understand me or think of my family.

I sneeze and my body jerk

I hit the floor

my chest burns & i’m can’t figure why

people are screaming

my hands are sticky

i’m getting chill

raising my body

trying to stand

raising my head

I still can’t hear them

I don’t hear the report

feeling it is whats left

seeing the hateful glare

my last thought is



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letter from my silent voice

my hands hurt

the second joints mostly on my left hand

I’m irritable in a whole new way

more restless than usual.

What’s this new driving force in my system.

why now am I feeling this utter contempt for my work.

I hate this shit.  My job is so intertwined with my family

my life is a drain of energy from multiple faucets

my energy is spent like coins at a vending machine.

this life I’m leading

takes more from me than it gives back.  That’s life in general this I am aware of, but damn if it does seem as if its only getting worse.

few things bring joy to me right now the list is getting shorter.

If I said my life is pointless that’d be to big of a point to raise.

I’m glad to be alive in some capacity

Even if I dread 80% of my day.

I’m thankful for a gig to pay my bills

friends who get me

alcohol to drink

and money to pay

even if it feels lifeless & pointless to be here.


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