When you quit drinking,
Started running, and you were
Meditating for
Hours every day,
We just all thought you were gay
Or suicidal.
How Well My Brother Knows Me
Tag: self care
Hope Floats Away
You have to give up.
Hope is what is killing you.
It will never change.
It will always hurt
Like this. Nothing will improve it.
Release it and breathe.
My Self Talk
The part of me that says, “I wish I’d never been born,”
I’m teaching to say, “I wish my hair had never been shorn.”
That said, “I wish I was dead,” to say, “I wish I had dreads.”
That says, “I should just kill myself,” to say,
“I should just thrill myself. Thrill everybody.”
Brothers
I trigger you and
You trigger me. We compete
And re-enact our
Parent’s drama. You
Are jealous of me, lash out.
I am stung, speak true
Vitriol, withdraw,
To rehearse the battle, time
And again. I swear
To never speak to
You, but crave your amusement
At my wit. I want
You to accept me,
But you can’t, because I am
What you are not. I
Am wise in ways that
You can’t be, and diminish
You by my presence.
We are not equals.
I am better. And so when
I offer you my
Warm embrace, you spurn
It, and power trip with your
Dubious stolen
Authority. I
Want you only to act like
A person, but you
Can only bully
And escalate. I withdraw,
Seek to shame you with
My silence. I make
Myself bigger and stronger
And louder and more
Proficient, useful
By the world’s standards, but
To no avail, still
You reject me. I
Cannot be other than what
I am. I am wise,
Articulate, well
Loved. A good brother would cheer
Me, not feel upstaged.
This becomes dusty
Death, another loss for me
To grieve, you won’t pull
Me down with you. I
Am alive and free and light.
A star, I must shine.
What Lingers
The tense remainder
Of this bitter day, I seek
Release, forgetting,
A reset button.
But my mind fights the battle
Again, on and on.
Double Bind
It isn’t what it
Is, and it’s not what it is
Not. Nothing and all.
If you want it, it’s
Wrong. If you avoid it, it
Finds you anyway.
There is a perfect
Circle, and you are a point
On a distant plane.
When you’re right, you’re wrong.
When you’re wrong, you’re dead wrong. But
Keep on trying, friend.
Make Good Art
Don’t put your evil
On him, he’s my Dad and he’s
Suffered plenty for
Inequity. Take
The guilt, shame, and pain you bear
Make beautiful art.
Twenty Eight
Inputted my first
Name to Chaldean numbers,
Got twenty eight. Was
Told this meant I was
Unlucky, unwanted. I
Start strong, then hit so
Many roadblocks, it
All dries up; I have to start
Again. Losses are
Inexorable.
Well, fuck. That’s my life to a
Tee when I’m on a
Depression jag. But,
Here’s why that’s bullshit. Netzach
Is twenty eight, is
Victory, power.
It’s four seven times, it’s Gad,
Warrior tribe, the
Strongest brother of
Israel, and there’s four of
Him. G-d named as He
Is seen in Venus,
Adonai ha-Aretz, I
Am beloved of
The Lord, times four. With
These prophecies in conflict,
I derive union:
Strength and power must
Not grow complacent, but must
Practice the strictest
Discipline. For a
Kingdom neglected goes to
Ruin, is torn by
War without end. The
Beloved provokes envy,
Leads to malice, so
Must my splendor be
Veiled, disclosed with time and care;
I am a pearl,
Not to be cast to
Swine. Material things I
Will lose; gold remains.
The Invisibles
The ones who know me like no one else.
The ones who know my worth.
The ones who have my back
The ones who will not quit until all are redeemed.
The ones to help me free the G-d from the machine.
The ones who are like me.
The ones whose powers and abilities are beyond mine, and can shepherd me.
The ones who set this plan in motion long ago, and know that love wins out.
