Untitled Poem, 6/4

When your friends love you enough to look for you
Seek you when you become lost
Look for you without your asking
Or knowing that you need to be found

When your friends love you enough to come rescue you
Love you enough to help you pick your/self from the floor
Love you enough to look beyond the brokenness and disrepair
Love you enough to see you whole

When your friends love you enough to help you stand
Love you enough to hold your hand
Until your legs are strong again
Able to walk on their own accord

When your friends love you enough to offer you an invitation
Invite you to lay it down, lay it all down
Armor, sheath and sword

When your friends love you enough to face you
Love you enough to look beyond the guise, the hurt, the pride
Love you enough to face you as you face yourself
Love you so much that they will not allow you to face yourself alone


Children Running Through

the taste
of lazy, summer days
when upon
open fields
you and I would lay
and watch
as clouds
would slowly
and change

every puff of white
with a shape,
a name?
unaware how
for hours we’d play
this game
and the day itself
would simply
melt away

the cool of sweat,
the blades of grass
that pressed against
our backs
as we
laid upon
the earth

our arms
as though able
to embrace the world
completely enamored
by the beauty
of the sky

our fingers,
in all their smallness,
combing through
as if able to
touch heaven
and somehow reach
our ancestors

crowning our fingers
in halos
of sunlight
their faces,
their smiles,

hiding behind clouds
though their sight
never left
our side

sorting through noise,
as infinite sounds
onto the streets
and the laughter
of children running through
as they looked back,
making faces at me

the sound of
of their voices
filling the air
soft and sweet
rising, elevating
clear and free

free, that’s
what I wish
to be.

Towards Becoming

perhaps one day we will love again
when the dust settles and the smoke clears
and the sadness that gripped and coiled our eyes like serpents peels away and disintegrates
empties itself clean and bone hollow
like the belly of newborn babies that seek and starve for a new satisfaction
substance that is purposeful

perhaps then
we’ll discover sight.
learn what it means to look upon and recognize one an/other
see our selves for the first time
standing in true form
bodies bare in all of their nakedness
heart, flesh and wounds exposed.
our bones would agitate and shift in their skeletal cradles
turn themselves over
reset like clockwork
return to a place of origin
full of curiosity and wonder.

perhaps then
we’ll regain speech.
have unfastened and rescued our tongues from the clutch of our mouths’ rooftops
learned the meaning behind words we unknowingly acquired
understand now the discourses of love and loss and awakening
possess new forms of communication
new ways to regard one another.

perhaps then
we’ll become found.
like lost children who return home after years of frightful wander
dragging along the weight of limping bodies like damaged collateral
sprouting heavy limbs and trembling flesh that long for rest in the arms of a constant
unclenching starved mouths and thirsting tongues that crave the taste of the familiar
a drop
a morsel
a crumb.
the tiniest parcel to prove the past still remembers

that there still remains some/thing of worth to recover.

Poem at Twenty-Five

the hands on the clock have struck midnight

there is no magical moment for me to unfold.

the phone besides me, for days, remains untouched

with no one at my side, no hands to claim my own

I welcome the years

once again


I want to tell you about me.

about the lonely nights these longing limbs have spent curled upon on a sofa bed mattress




meticulously wrapping my adolescent bones in grown up skin

without ever realizing how my body had deceived

had long begun to change and age right before me.

I want to tell you about me.

about the desolate nights these driven knees have spent ardently bent upon

aching to understand

scrapping forgiveness in fist and mouthfuls

from tear soaked splintered floorboards

skinning and pulping the flesh off kneecaps while performing repentance

mouthing words ‘cross lips whose depths a forming mind had yet to make sense with

and yet

praying to be changed

praying to be delivered

praying to wake up dead

praying to a god

that just would not answer me

I want to tell you about me.

about the small, crouching animal these tired bones have spent a lifetime encasing and carrying inside.




for years, even I, unaware of its existence.

the steady pulse of a second heartbeat

the pressing of sharp, razor teeth

anchored around my intestines, slowly eroding my hunger for life

I want to tell you about me.

about the incessant search for self this relentless heart has spent an existence embarking on.

moving towards.

a constant search for completion


no origin

no master

no beginning or end

or actual destination.

only arrival.

satisfied if and only until I am found.

me. and only me. whole and complete.

perhaps then I shall be made useful.

traveling. I am always traveling.

I want to tell you about me.

about the many foreign beds this unclaimed body has spent sprawled within.

incalculable sets of flesh this body has pressed against.

inserted itself in.




to collectively make a home with.

the many empty hands these fingers have held and wrapped promises around.

the unnamable monsters that have lived and breathed within the warmth of my mouth.

convinced love would somehow be found

between the crevices of open legs and folds of worn sheets.


I too have been that of that kind.

sought comfort in the arms of strangers

validation in the eyes of a passerby

hoping, one day, someone too would notice me.

I want to tell you about me.

about the blackest cipher this intersected self has spent a living crawling itself out from.

wondering if and how it would survive.

eyes wide open

seeking danger and lurking in the turning of every corner

a constant looking over my shoulder

knowing a final end awaited me.

there simply exists

no easy place in this world for a queer brown boy.

no safe space for his being to fully form.

for the nurturing of his soul to fully




I want to tell you about me.

and if I did,

would you stop for just a moment to listen?