Sippin’ Dr. Pepper
smoking cigarettes
me, biting apple
clenching water bottle to my chest.

Us, screaming opposites attract
but he,
can’t stand the idea of commitment coming back
and nicotine
how it messes with my head
trying to disappear between the sheets
but can’t fall deep enough into his bed.

So we ride
on jokes amidst our pain
talk about it
kind of
then let it slip away.

Laugh
at how we’ll burn the whole thing down
then get silent
find our trees
are burning closer to the ground.

But he holds me like
I’m something he doesn’t want to let go
but knows me
like I’m something he’s gunna let go.

And we joke about it
as we watch the forest burn
pretend it won’t be us
until we’re called to it
walk into fire on our turn.

Wonder,
if we’ll make our way back
holding each other’s charred hands
pale skin turning black
parts of us
slowing falling to the floor
...

Sundays have been dedicated to God
but I watched him take them all back
dedicate them to his front porch
his guitar
the smoke that exits his lungs
and I wonder
if he can tell the difference?
When God exits him through melody
will he still call it prayer?
Call his exhalation, a begging from his knees
a remembrance to all he left behind.

Sundays, were dedicated to God
what he meant was family
but he never speaks of his father
only mentions mother in passing
on the subject of dancing
repeats melodies as if he’s calling her back
and she repeats prayers as if she’s calling him back.

But it is so common
that they can’t hear each other over the music
that when God speaks in different tunes
he says there is none
and she holds hers closer
lets go of her son in the name of the holy spirit
and he makes his life a crucifixion
but keeps it silent
nails hands to the sound of his...

I watch the cigarette smoke enter his lungs
wonder
if we will laugh ourselves to death or if the nicotine will take him
or if I’ll die young
not invincible
fuck healthy habits
some times there just too much discipline
my bones
feel the lightest when my body shakes in this laughter
when bad moments are laced with good jokes
there are always so many fucking good jokes
and we can laugh through the fog
and the smoke
and every reason why we shouldn’t
we speak it aloud as curse
then laugh it aloud as witches can’t be serious
I am learning
to hop off of this broom
step off of pedestal
of the knowing
how we will burn ourselves down
I am trying to not cast up love spells
but sometimes seduction is so seducing
and I fall victim to her like prey
become the predator
trap him in his own bed sheets
and still wonder how we got here
and we lay down empty bets
of who will hurt who...

This is a poem about guns
this is a poem about guns
this is another poem about guns.

This
is a poem about the perpetrator
this is a poem about the perpetrator
this is another poem about the perpetrator
this
is another perpetrator.

This is a poem about the victims
this is a poem about the victims
this is another poem about the victims
turned heroes
but still victims.

This
is a poem about the right to bear arms
about children
being shot in the arms
in the back
in the head
this
this is a poem about the dead
this is another poem about the dead.

This
is a poem about the survivors
about surviving
about needing to survive
about being trained to hide
this is a poem about desks
chairs
covered windows
this is
a lock down
this is a poem about another lock down.

This is a poem about the Second Amendment
the right to bear arms
responsible gun owners
this is poem...

This land is your land
This land is
your land
From the California
To the New York island
From the…
To the….
This land was made for you and
You and
You and

Scene
It is the year 2019
I stand in a school auditorium
Amidst immigrant and ESL students
They could not keep quiet today
Teacher, expresses her disappointment
Looks stage right
Mr Adams
Do you have anything you’d like to say?

Mr Adams
tells us “you just don’t know what you want.”
and true
our youthful bones
sit silently in the unknowingness
in the
future is still ahead of us
in the
still trying to learn Mr Adams’ language
kind of sense
no
we don’t know what we want.

Mr Adams
tells us “you don’t know how to treat your freedom.”
and true
see Mr Adams
we are still looking for it
searching between home country
and this land
which you call yours
laced in all of your whiteness
see
how our accents mean that...

and in this way
I will rid myself of everything you have touched
much like my skin
which produces new cells
but me
how I love to speed up the process
tear it open and let it breathe fresh air
peel myself
over
and
over
and
over
but my hair
is not renewed
is just timeline
runs passed my shoulders
and I wonder
when was the last time your finger tips felt these roots?
Tried to pry them out of me?
It was not yesterday
or the day before that
or the day before that
or the day before that
so I measure
note the closest you’ve come to me is this jaw line
border between body and mind
between silence and screaming
guard of the entry to this voice box
how I’ll cut you away
and how fortunate
that there is not enough of you to hand over to another
your touch will only hit her floor
get mixed with others’ pasts
and I’ll run my hands through fresh strands
know fresh starts...

When the bare bones of family
hold unspoken history
we cough up dust
and wonder why we don’t know how to breathe deep
when space is taken by the past of roots
rotting.

There is one
who will choose to clean her airways
notice all that traps us and decide no more
but it is not easy
to cough for the rest of them.

But there is always that one who thinks that she can.
But she can’t.
And she knows this.
But she tries.

And they are all as innocent as her.

But they won’t believe her.
That these words are all just attempts at healing.
And is it working?
Or is healing breathing deep despite trapped dust?
Must it be cleaned out or swallowed down?

I don’t know.
But I am all dust pan in hand
ready and willing.

When woman becomes witch
she has not learned spells to cast among her lovers
or love her nots
she has become spell book for self
for the love it takes to be alone
she
has separated from father
from needing that which was never hers
and now dives into mother as vessel to her earth
notices spinning planets as birth right
she once again becomes owner of her body
stares at flesh
cuts it open to find she has always been potion
when she says she still loves you
she means she can still cast self in your presence
means
she is no longer fragile
but is malleable
is able to bend at the blow of each wind
she watches flies intently
not for adding corpses to cauldrons
but for learning to cut the air
she is like that now
can dodge all that will not suit her
yet she does not fight back
this does not mean she will choke down
she is not repression
but instead a silent witness
...

You
are like the dress I keep in the back of my closet
hoping
one day it will pour itself down my bones
land just above the floor
no longer drag
picking up all
of that which it does not own
and I do not own
and should not be burdened with its scrubbing and
cleaning
However,
I
have not grown the necessary height for its draping
you
are just like that
have not grown the necessary height for my draping.

You are the dress I keep in the back of my closet
it has not been hemmed despite three years of me saying, “tomorrow,”
it still drags across old floors
clings to dust
and little corpses of the flies I’ll never know
mind you
if I were that type of woman
a pair of heels could lift me high
have me fill its stature
but it is unlike me
so I keep it there
on a hanger
one day I know
I will either have it’s edges hemmed
or let it go.

You
are just like that.

But I,
have...

When the girl has gone quiet
ask her
which piece of her screams
which part of her has become witch
has become conjurer
has morphed to keep stillness among the others
she will lie to you
share only that which she has recited thousands of times before
tell them the same story
you will hear all which would tear another up
but she recites it memorized
emotion
has been drained through her finger tips
she has become witch
or lizard
reptile
she has learned to be snake around the sharpest corners
has watched her skin peel off but has not grown
only become dense.

She is heavy now
though her bones are much more visible
her veins
you’ll want to shoot,
remember,
how quickly that switch could turn to on,
as you looked upon her hands
pulsing
thin bones
you found them so beautiful
as she starved
you found her so beautiful
as she starved.

Began to feed herself,
only in your...