To the pastors, preachers and Christians who fucked up my Christian identity 

1. God damnit, I needed that.

2. I hope that the cuss made you cringe

3. My mama did it better anyways

4. My dad told me never to get cute when someone selling you something 

5. I won't let you take it. 

6. I'm still working out how this works, where to put faith with works, helping bodies off of crosses, rolling rocks away from tombs, resurrecting every day, getting played anyway, getting payed doesn't pay and I still have things to say.

7. You made sanctuaries unsafe, altars ready to take my blood, poison community and artificial communion, I'm calling habeus Corpus Christi, show me the body of Christ , I can't hear the hymn through Caesars sound system, I drink unholy amounts of wine, I don't trust men of God, holy words hold a lot of hot air, show me some holy legs and dirty feet. Walk on my street. See how many Jesuses you meet.

8. I don't trust other people to tell me about God anymore. They don't know what she looks like.

9. I'm still worried I disappoint God most of the time. 

10. I spent four years and too much money trying to find the mustard seeds in the horse shit you handed me, left school with a story and a voice and I know of one book that holds a lot of other books that are filled with stories of people with voices who told truth when no one wanted to hear it so I guess you can call my critique a pathetic  prophetic witness.

11. Because 10 points wasn't enough to get right after the seven years you took from me.

12. Because I met more than a dozen disciples who have convinced me there is something here.

13. How dare you take that I hold most precious turn it rotten round the edges, make me wanna cut cancer crosses out of my ideology, give me a faith biopsy, find malignant mustard seeds growing in my chest and I'm to scared to pluck them cause what if nothing ever grows back?

14. Jesus forgive me for every time I skipped church on Sunday to pray with smoke signals tryna get high enough to reach heaven from my basement. 

15. I still believe in God, even if it hurts sometimes. 

16. I still freeze up when I hear worship music.

17. I've been lied to so often by people I trusted that pulpits have lost the benefit of the doubt.

18. You made me hate myself, cut out parts of my personhood, you stopped me from putting razors to my arms and took your incisions to my identity.

19. I don't know who I am without God, I don't who God is when other people are around, and I read the Holy Spirit comes when as few as two of God's followers stop to pray, and I'm no math wiz but there's got to be a reason our prayers echoed like mourners in an empty tomb.

20. I'm jealous of your zealotry, I lost that with my dignity, I never wanted to carry this much enmity, I'm all about safety. Put safeties on red letter guns, cause a man with a book of books can do terrible things with an untrained eye, which ain't the same as unstained eye. Plus I heard we all had wood in our shit anyway, but you got a couple folks who would spend everyday, checking pupils for splinters, knocking on folks doors in both summers in winters trying to sell us slivers insurance for the cost of a tiny tithe every Sunday, we'll get the log out of your eye so you can see it our way. 

21. I tutored folks in how best to really read the Bible, ask questions at every turn, when Ma talks you listen, don't get cute with salesmen, check your sources, takes some courses, hold your horses, don't let them carry you away. I told them all the things I ever parroted all the hate that I inherited so that if you came for them they could at least see you coming, get out of your way quicker than I did. 

An Honest Accounting

 Yesterday, I vaulted over mountains, skipped over rivers and found myself on the other side.

Immediately I was lost, for the horizon's framing was no longer my home.

No setting sun to flee from, no moonrise to rescue me,

All the stars were stolen, all the lights were golden, and none of them could touch me. 

I imagined myself a void, and was shocked to become empty.

With no one to avoid there was also no one to envy.

With only me myself and I, I was able to sift through the memory,

I found that the edges of that time were not held up by mountains of lies, 

but instead were bound by twin rivers of grief that streamed from my own eyes. 

Eventually my weeping cleared the scales, I adjusted the moral of my own tales.

Soaring through cycles and the ducking both the scythe and the sickle.

I imagine that is how rivers start, first as an icicle-- 

then warmed by an ever returning sun that melts ice and promises freedom.

A promise even the son can't deliver from the demons. 

Our chains are our choices, our liberation leaps from our voices.

So we must scream and make demands of not only heaven, 

but of each other. Break the chains, then break ourselves

find that the bread of the body is not indivisible 

Set hurriedly into repair but find the shattered pieces

never fit together like they did when they were unsevered.

And if all that remains is broken, 

and cannot be fixed with simple words spoken

then we have found ourselves past point of hoping.

Aspirations become delusions when untethered from the earth,

but if the torn parts within our hearts still have worth,

then maybe we can knit them together.

share my pitted mind with your broken heart

create a new kind of art.

A tapestry of of sophistry where every lie contains a truth,

a love that is reminiscent of our youth

where we could believe in things that were less than whole,

I mean after all isn't that the goal?

Find the best part of myself is inside of you,

find the strength you lost in me 

drink it down like lukewarm tea,

where the heat of fire is little more than memory. 

find some things remain bitter in spite of honey,

and some folks remain broke in spite of money,

but nobody's perfect so why bother the rejects

let people live in the imperfection of their flaws

let people be free despite the intention of laws. 

Bottoms Up

A madman inside me rages, I am so alone

The madman succeeds and so I must atone.

The child in me whimpers, he just wants to help,

the mother in me doesn't recognize the child as her whelp.

Love yourself as though you were my child

Love yourself in green and gold and good and wood and wild

Love yourself in magic spells, that maybe could be true,

love yourself in secret messages in your least favorite hue.

Love yourself in stories that you edited for fun

love yourself in broken streets that are no less fun to run. 

Love yourself with safety for you and all the other yous

love yourself like you would love you if you met you in passing

Love yourself without remorse and don't let the past sting

love yourself in letters written on someone else's behalf

Love yourself in wisdom and know you're not the chaff 

I have loved and could always love anyone this way

except of course for me myself, at least not for today

I'm seeking transcripts from a mind that wont take notes

See if we were real or what was our deal 

cause codependent's such a small word

And if it is a diagnosis, is this a life long affliction my critical addiction?

It seems my hole was never full, and yet since I left its feels more empty.

If art can only come from abundance, why does every song draw blood?

Who am I to say who is and is not a stud. or a dud. or a bud, but probably not with bubbly. 

I talk backwards to myself sometimes because my brain doesn't like doing what its told

sometimes my fingers need to grab my conscious from my soul, and smoke a bowl knock the me out of me so I can see what I could be if hated myself a little less took the hit and had a guest at my own personal me fest. Or me feast, sometimes everyone's eyes look hungry. I'm sure mine are starving. 

When I try to write prose

 I am always too long winded, every sentence is run on. Sometimes my words dont rhyme, sometimes my heart can't keep time. Sometimes I write with my breath held within me. Like I could lose the thought by breathing it out. This is a stream of consciousness that flows like a river, or rolls in like the tide, whats the worth of time and why can't I abide? Have your thoughts ever been so heavy that they could no longer be carried, that you would say to anyone "what if we married? maybe you have some space on your back for the yoke of my problems?" This is why I don't date. To quote my favorite Fiona Apple song, I thought I was a man, but I'm just a little boy. Everyone is smarter than me, everyone has twice struggle and they carry it without trouble, so I must be the troubled. Everyone else has popped their bubble, so together they might together huddle, but the inside of my thoughts smells like beer stains and dope. It smells like I lost my hope. But I do hope, and pray, every day. I send smoke signals to lovers and old friends, dont you want to see how this one ends? Sometimes I think moms are the only ones patient enough for me. Maybe something about the indescribable pain and relief of giving birth connects them to this earth. Fathers don't occur naturally, they are beings of choice, but I doubt I'll ever choose myself. I lack the wealth to care for humans how they deserve to be cared for, and so do so many, but they choose to bring that life anyway. I never want to hurt anyone, so why does my mom cry at my words, why does she always choose birds. Is it cause before me she could fly, maybe when she's alone she still can, but locked herself to three men whose feet are frozen to the ground. Who better to raise a bastard that grows like a dastardly weed. Some of the best people I know are bastards, such that the word has never been an insult. I couldn't comprehend why someone would choose not to love someone for an accident of birth, we just don't have enough time on this earth, to let the barriers we made on our own divide us. I came out to my grandmother and she asked me what bi meant, and I told her the truth and she sent me a gift of memories, her own way of telling me she sees and still believes. If magical thinking doesn't work, how is it that I've tricked me into loving myself again, or wait is that conceited, I'm sorry I thought that was what I needed, but maybe I'm the type that always needs more, an emotional whore, selling my feelings for pennies and nickels, never worried about the reaper's sickle. I'd love to be more than what I am, but want to believe that what I am is enough, I promise I'm not tripping over green stuff, unless I'm running through the woods, but I rarely run anymore, most often I walk, I've got time enough to talk, I whine enough to write, and if my meds were right I'd sleep at night, dreaming of you instead of staring at the ceiling yearning for you. I tried to count the ways in which I was right today, not correct but morally erect. If someone told me there day and had done what I had done, I'd convince them they were one of the best, so why do I feel guilty every time my body rests. How am I condemned by my own pride, yet feel as though no one's on my side. It's so much easier to hide. When you're capable of loving everyone, everyone fears what the love you offer means, is it a door into my castle, or just a peak behind the scenes. I flinch when love is offered, but ask for it all the time, I know I can't drink this away, but I'd love to try with wine.

Frozen Nights

Tonight it’s so cold that the clock has frozen over                                                                             I keep waiting for the second hand trick

My breath abated 

my brain sedated 

and yet I guess my soul is lit

Like lights left on to stave off a barely dark night

Like long trusted street lamps obscured by encroaching snow

I shut my eyes tight and try to listen the world breathe, 

and when she does my house shakes from the passage of her sigh

Flurries spin in fury but only grow colder for it, 

wasn’t air in motion supposed to be warmer

Have the physicists lied or was I simply blind 

I have on occasion wondered if I fell could a strong enough wind catch me

If I went and dived today is it my last or first dog that would fetch me

Guide me through the end of my life to whatever lies beyond

Maybe I’ll meet god, 

and if she’s disappointed in my works 

than I guess that’ll make two of us,

And maybe she’ll send me back, or maybe she won’t 

“I gave you thirty years and you’ve spent them on the phone”

My own self doubt lingers like a bruise upon a bone 

Sometimes my feet hurt just from looking down

Sometimes my back hurts looking at the weight of my own frown 

So I avoid mirrors, I’m starving myself for enlightenment I’ve already found

Everyone loves someone or something more than they love themselves

That’s not a super power it’s a sign that you’re in hell

But I’ve never met a devil who didn’t want to dance, 

Or a song that doesn’t switch if given half a chance 

Sometimes I fall asleep to words, 

some nights I need a screen,

Shower shadows on the wall so I don’t vent my spleen,

Took a pill to fall asleep but I’m awake as shadows creep

Is it possible to be broken beyond repair 

cause if so how many of us are simply cracked all the time?

I used to joke about where the sun don’t shine,

Now I wonder if the sun itself is running out of time

It’s colder every year except for when it’s hotter 

How’d you send my mom some sons 

when you knew she wanted daughters

True Colors

You once told me that you dont think in words,
you think in colors.
The concept was so alien to me,
I stopped talking for almost a full minute.
But now I am feeling in colors,
Like when I feel
Orange
Orange like leaves at the end of September
Orange like a fire down to its embers
Orange is what I'm feeling when your words get tender
Orange and nervous and excited and jumpy and scared
Orange like every caution sign that I blew past running towards you
Orange like the color of the sun rising behind me when I visit you
Orange is when my hands are sweaty and my heart is racing
Orange is when I'm excited to see you but have no idea what to say
Orange is behind every nervous twitch when I hold you, underneath every message I send you
Orange is the sound of ringing when I wait for you to pick up
Orange was on my lips the first time we kissed
Orange was in my boots telling me to run after you the last time we said good bye

Or when I feel blue
Not sad,
unlike every crappy country song,
When I've got the blues there is nothing to cry about.
For me blue is the color of your eyes,
And open skies,
And possibilities.
Blue is every reason to see you
Blue is everything that could go right
Blue when it comes to you is always bright
When I'm with you and I feel blue I feel so light
That I could drift into air
That there isn't anything we couldn't do
There is nowhere we couldn't go
There's not a word that could stop our flow
When I'm with you I get so high of forget about the low
When I'm with you the edges of the world seem to glow
Daring me to visit them and to bring you along,

You can also make me green
Not with jealously or envy but with life
The green you grow in me is like the grass the second week in July
That green is thick and strong
That green is always long,
No matter when you mow it,
And wouldn't you know it,
You make me green like summer in the middle of winter
I am a palm tree standing next to pines in December
Swearing by my scarf and mittens
Like dress code is all that is between me and survival
You make me green like a cactus in the desert
I am alive where I have no reason to be
You are oasis and jungle
You are unrepentant existence in the face of oblivion,
You plant seeds that cannot help but grow
You are a flower that flourishes in snow
You are vitality and impulsivity
When I'm with you Im all reflex and instinct
Far too busy living to waste time thinking

Our red is damned hilarious.
Our red is the same shade as our faces in the middle of laughter
Our red is sarcastic and suffers no fools
Our red is highly unconcerned with rules
Our red fills awkward silences
Our red is waiting in the wings for easy smiles
When we cry, red is there
Red waits just below the surface
Our red has poor timing at the best of times
Our red is more contagious than the common cold
Our red forgets to look outside and see that it is time for sleeping
Our red never  really sleeps
Our red sometimes moves faster than the rest of us
Leaving our mouths before we have a chance to check it
Our red speaks a language that not everyone can comprehend
Sometimes our red is secret
Sometimes our red sits at the bottom of mugs of wine
Usually our red is loud
I really like our red.

When we work, I feel purple

Purple like a bruise that's sore enough to remind me what I work for

Purple like a house in Hartford 

Purple like hurts that don't fade quickly

Purple that breeds empathy 

This shade of purple dreams of being Walker's lavender

This kind of purple is always inspired

This kind of purple will not burn out 

This kind of purple is royal,

A royal pain in the ass

of any administrator, law maker or anyone

Who thinks that justice is blind,

She is not,

Justice sees our world and weeps purple tears

And sometimes so do we.

Most often you make me feel yellow,

Yellow like the sun at high noon

Yellow like a toddlers balloon 

Yellow like a day that is coming soon.

When I'm with you,

Yellow magic markers retain their hue

Dandelions ask me to save my breath because you are a wish come true

When we come up with new ideas your yellow shines through 

You bring smiles enough for sharing

The thing you do better than everyone else is caring

And you may have to excuse me for staring

But you're bright and you've caught my eye, my ear and my heart 

And before we start

To get carried away with this part

Let me remind you 

That yellow can be brighter

That yellow can be a fighter 

That yellow is lighter

Than air

And when I'm with you I'm filled with enough yellow I could fly 

Since I met you,

I have dreamed in brighter color, 

And sometimes I start to wonder,

If I will ever understand the tie dyed kaleidoscope of colors that is you. 

You burn with fires all across the spectrum,

You smile with a rainbows brilliance,

You are orange blue green red purple yellow and more

I know I will never understand you. 

But, I have watched your colors bleed into me,

And I am better for it.

(poets note: had this one sitting in the draft folder, seems a shame to leave it unpublished, even if the initial muse has moved on)

An Old Flame in the Night

In the morning it is often winter,
though sometimes it is indeed still summer.
In the later nights as the moon climbs into the sky
to peer down at fools searching for stars,
I wonder if that means she is watching me.

So I threw a snowball at the moon,
but I threw it softly and it shattered on the ground.

Then I sent a smoke signal,
but she didn't catch the drift

So then I carried a bag with literally all of my feelings for her to her house
and there were better looking dudes than me,
and I assumed meant my dumb ass had been tricked



I returned to my hole to hide from the world,
One woman broke my heart,
Who would be interested in the shattered remains?

I forget that some women spend their whole lives cleaning up the messes of stupid young men.
I forget that often, they watch little boys age into morons,
and die old and alone with no one to argue with.



Hiding from the world will not cover up my own stupidity and shame
Shame rides my back like it has a saddle on it,
meaning I can only ever be looking down
and I'd love to be looking up for a change of pace.

I'd love a sun in the middle of the night.
But I guess that would just be a second moon.
My voice cracks, but my breath can carry a tune,

A not quite prayer, to a not quite goddess.
a dandelion in the wind, her daddy's wistful whistlin'

A mother's prayer with a wish within.


A flower so beautiful it haunted my dreams for a decade,
made me steal from gardens hoping to know the scent of spice and sugar
so I could have the words to tell her.
"Please, could I drink from your cup?
My throat is parched."