I can feel the ice beneath my feet. This mountain peak tastes like the first time I ever had Christmas dinner with someone else’s family. Heels slip and my toe sinks into a frosty puddle of regret that sets me shivering.

Getting weak at the knees. 

Who knew freedom from you meant loneliness with me. 

I scream from between the falling trees of Mount Everest’s seams and I know it made a sound… there’s just nobody around to tell me what it means. I’m like the smartest person in the world- all out of degrees- but it is the two who are better than one, for when they lie down, they have heat.

Where do I climb to next, when jumping would be my greatest delight? Or maybe not. Beneath this thermal underwear is a suit of armor I built from lightning… protecting the deepest scar I ever got of being abandoned by someone I always thought would be right beside me.

I’ve been squinting into the wind chill, Jesus swag, for so long, I can’t always tell when my hallucinations are generating mirage anymore.

Are you real?

Are you just like me?

Or are you too much like me.

The rain becomes my company and the sleet my faithful lover. They never speak. They never understand a word I say. Flicks of crystallized isolation discarded from the sky coat the gnarled speed bumps along my tongue… entomb rivers of affection in glaciers at the back of my throat…

I have a friend who once told me that I’m a hopeless romantic-

Which isn’t romantic at all.

Just hopeless.



Making Friends


Friendship didn’t used to be this hard…
Or did it
I’ve been alone a long time

In my head it’s so easy, to be the type of being that sees a feasible we out of you and me, peeping a new friend like a bird in a willow tree. But now every time I go to flap my wings, I discover they only want me to have happy penguin feet. They want me fly, not in flight. Out of mind, when in sight.

It’s confusing.

Didn’t we get off on the same foot like new movements? Spark hard like two fuses? Connect sharp like Bruce bruises? Form a bond like chem 22 students?

Then why do I feel like you were just playin with me. Why do I feel like I can’t lead with my identity, even though that’s what paved the way for me. You know I’m not desperate for likes or to be liked- I just don’t understand why when lightning strikes into the bottle, you wanna smash it at my feet.

If we’re not really friends, why did you smile when we discovered we were threads clipped from the same golden tapestry?

Friendship didn’t used to be this hard…
Or did it
I’ve been alone a long time

But maybe this is my fault. I rejected the method for being likeable. I kept the best parts about me all to myself. Why flaunt what I’m always dancing with, when if you stick around you can join the glide across the floor too. Why brag about what makes me different from most individuals- I refuse to blow up my ego, when we can just build this casual castle together and then you’ll see too.

Maybe it’s because I’m a boy and you’re a girl.
Maybe cuz I’m all black and you’re a swirl.
Maybe texts at midnight make you hurl.
Maybe texts in daylight wreck your world.

All I know is people like you and me don’t come along often. It’s awkward, right when I think this ice cream life cannot soften you drop in like a Jobs pin, finding water in a Mars pit. I should be exhausted or nauseous, but the fostered prospect of finding another me out in the wild yonder brings my fingers and arms uncrossed to light the rocket, throwing rocks at dead dreams to wake up and quit playing possum!

… but right when I thought it’d be you and me in the stars…
You casually let me know, there’s only space between our hearts…
My voice is on house arrest, yelling through the void…
But not even God makes friends- He loves all in and hopes He’s not ignored.

… Friendship didn’t used to be this hard…
Or did it
I’ve been alone a very long time


River’s Choice

The river used to flow for me.

Tired and worn down, lips cracked with the merciless blood leaks of ambition… the dry riverbed would flow for me. Would grace me with the refreshing honor of parching my thirst and revitalizing my skin.

My invitation was open ended like the fat man’s appetite, never rescinded like glory in the afterlife, I would often make my way there after night. Hidden in shadow but spied by the discretion governed pale eye of the moon. Under cover of light and darkness I would whisper the gray of my heart out and the river would flow for me. Into my mouth, over my brain, through my eyes, across my back…

I was never ashamed to be broken because I knew the river’s affection for me began in eternity and continued on into forever.

Very often it was the weight of identity in my mind which drove me to my knees in defeat… needing the coolness of the river, but forcing myself to endure the heat. Desert sand began to define me like a dictionary written in braille with seashells in hand. I couldn’t see well enough to stand. Burden bigger than the sea whale Hancock threw off the land.

I collapsed at the river for healing again…

But that day my awareness of my neediness and spoiled gain played against me…

The river doesn’t flow for me anymore.

Always Windy

The wind exists inside of me.

I can topple towers, I can uproot gardens, I can magically whisk imaginative girls to far away places.

The wind is neither predator nor prey.

It is a response. Every gust of rushing invisible power influenced by the shifting cosmos tilting the earth and reshuffling the cards across the board. Some days it feels remarkably tame, and other days it feels like unstained insanity, mentally under feet like wildebeests stampeding…

I killed Mufasa, but saved Simba.

Abandoned Vader, but empowered Luke.

The wind exists inside me, never to be conquered, vanquished, or stilled.

I am the wind.

I am intelligence.

I am creativity.

I am free.

Only Typing

Sometimes, you’ve got to slow down and let the poetry catch you.

Even though the sunrise glides while I sleep, I still think it happens too fast because I miss it daily. By the time I awake, the miracle has already had its happy ending. Eyes blink open, muscles flex, legs stretch and technology prepares my breakfast- like a preprogrammed fairy tale born of roman, mythical imagination my life can be considered the ultimate in poetic statements…

And daily I miss virtually all of it… Like that small family photo tucked inside my wallet- I see what I love so much that I forget to stop and love it…

Sometimes, you’ve got to slow down and let the poetry catch you.


This is what I’m thinking to myself as I lay on my bed watching my beautiful girlfriend puttin work in on her laptop as she sits in front of my couch. At first I had my eyes closed in peaceful pseudo-slumber, but then they popped open and I rolled over and looked at her… I mean reeeallly looked at her. Sittin there all lovely and focused with frown lines of productive concentration creasing her mouth… And it dawned on me- I don’t look at her that much. This may sound weird, but if you’re tryna live holy then you know what I’m talkin about…

And it was in that precious, admiration filled moment… That poetry caught me.

A sense of awe overtook me, and words that I already knew took on brand new meaning… The live right fight can pay off in powerfully small ways it seems… Poetry overtook me. ME. The poet. The Wordsmith. Overtaken masterfully by the mastery of my own element…

And she was only typing.