Holy Motha Freakin Gosh

  A Filipino crispy pork belly egg breakfast taco In Greenwich Village on a perfectly warm summer Friday night A table for two Next to tables for more Filled with straights Medical students Drunk girls  Cow towing to the men they sit with Tight shorts from online shopping And New Year's plans And weekend houses  The drunk girl makes animal bird like noises Calls everyone "Baby" And shhhshes everyone  Even though she is the loudest person in this restaurant A gay ghost walks by Wandering to a table for two In the back corner of a patio  On a perfectly warm summer night A pair of finance bros sits at the high top They speak directly to each other A couple, on a date, sit comfortably close to each other on the other end of the high top table Gay ghosts are harder to find Because that what happens to us On perfectly warm summer nights In a city like this But I do see them Walking by Looking in on patios Lit by strung lights and Pride flags Because why the fuck not? On a nigh

  I’ve stopped writing poetry  Because  Maybe the sound  Of another dead body Hitting the ground Is the only thing  That we can hear To cause us to move To make us to cheer I’ve stopped seeing broadway Because, the tickets  (I can’t afford) I’d have to whore my body  To make it to just one more And i’ve done that before And i need the money to eat I need the energy to walk I need the time to sleep I’ve stopped engaging, really Because what’s the point I’d rather be off fucking  'n' rolling a legal joint Let the chemical romance of clean eating fill the air As they shoot shoot shoot  And we stare stare stare.

  S C A T T E R ° Back to the earth Taken by the air Let into the water Back to the earth Your body goes The wild water seemed so cold Dark and quiet below I wanted to plunge in after you Swim in that yellow billowing cloud But by the time I looked back It too,  Was gone Should I be worried Or have you already flown Leaving your body For us to deliver A bag full of dust Brought back to the earth

Here on the last day of my thirties I think of you I hid myself My birth day Always haunted me All my life From you Because I didn't know how to be who I was Who I am Who I will be I ran I'm sorry if I hurt you And know very little Still What to do What I do know Is that time, is not only precious It's going Right now Even as I still am guessing at how to be And I don't want to run anymore Because what I am running from Is ultimately what I am running to So I will stand here Perfectly created And struggling  Everyday To be Just a little more free And a lot more of me Than I was yesterday Thank you for loving me I have felt it  Letting go  Into you #bewhoyouare

Sunny runs Lenox Fast Food breakfast spot in Central Harlem. He and his beautiful wife, And Fernando, Run the spot on Lenox Ave, Just below 143rd St. Next to a bar called 'A Touch of Dee'.  They serve plates, Fried fish, Coffee with milk or half 'n' half only... And cheese grits.  Everyone orders the cheese grits. I've never had them, But secretly, always want to try them.  The waffles are toaster waffles, And come in 2 sizes:  Regular and silver dollar.  There are tins ready with butter, Prepped bacon, And these little metal bowls, That Fernando has on hand to mix your eggs.  Which he folds with precision and skill. In the back of this narrow, Black-painted-walled hole in the wall (the kinda spot my Dad would love), On this block of Lenox Ave., There is a picture of Obama- maybe from 2008. On the wall next to the "If someone is choking" sign. Today a man, Much taller than me, With a smile and energy that could light up NY, A man who Sunny knew by name, Wa

Anyone that would still vote for Trump should be thrown in an unmarked van, put in a small cage, infected with an airborne disease, have their rights stripped of them, have their safety and freedom repeatedly threatened, be called a rapist and a thief, while simultaneously being sexually assaulted and made fun of, be separated from their family for months, be put in an overcrowded classroom, shot with a semi automatic weapon, be put in a church, shot with a semi automatic weapon, be put at a concert, shot with a semi automatic weapon, be put in a Walmart, shot with a semi automatic weapon... Then have their lifeless body propped up for a photo with a can of Goya beans. Then, maybe, just maybe they'll get a sense of this man's real values, or at least the ones he'll continue to instate in this country. It is time for radical change. Fists up. Sitting naked in the streets. Singing to Marsha P. Walking back over the bridges built by John Lewis. Because BLACK. LIVES. MATTER. U