i swear
if i see
the word forbidden
in one more queer poem
im going to flip my shit
the cliche is tired
we are all tired
of being forbidden
in your poetry
in poetry
you can be anything
you can be everything
you can be free as the wind
you can be as true as birdsong
and you can sing
sing your love as song and true
as the lovebirds do
Monday Transparency
Another day in paradise
With creatures emerging
From their shelled existence
Living life with purpose
Ill-defined and
In prep of
Death eluded by
An everlasting afterlife
Sunday crawlers burned
By candles of forgiveness
All too human
Carrying natureʼs guilt
A heavy coat worn in
Drowned constitution
Salt numbs their wounds
Pain stinging with reality and
As they wade in their ocean
Losing consciousness and
Bloating with stagnant despair
They brew some more coffee
Attempting to manage the day
the bad cloud
ever omnipresent
yet still forgotten
somehow
albeit temporarily
the dark smoke
that bubbling cloud
of ignored doubts
and layered self loathing;
the angst of a thousand
rash decisions
lay beneath
a filigree membrane
of transient contentment.
all it takes is one barb,
one jag on the edge of
a thought,
a dormant fear.
a 4am shark's tooth
triumphs, catches
rips an inevitable exit
black, depressive clouds escape.
internal soothings
coos to the god of positivity
fan it back inside
to be sealed with self help
stitches
yet the bruises
and the acrid aftertaste
remain.
smell the roses, paul
smell the roses.
