whoever i date/marry, they must allow me to touch their butt…at least 7 times a day

….it’s a law

someone should tell me where i can obtain a typewriter, because i’m a poet and because of reasons

When my hips make like prayer books,

and I have a son

I will tell him:

my father is weak

but doctors mistake it for heart disease.

Those doctors are fools.

They don’t know of the lack of childhood

that was granted on me,

dealing with that man who’s heart

has too much plaque build up,

he doesn’t even know what love

feels like anymore.

Man of the house does not apply

in this household.

Don’t be like your grandfather,

only made of ugly and hate and curse words.

Your tongue comes from a long line of swords,

made for killing with words.

I pray that you know what to do with it,

I try my best to make something with this burden,

I disguise it as art,

these words aren’t lovely.

Only journals scratched with mix-matched ink.

Keep your head up high

and walk straight,

you are a black boy:

the most powerful and most misunderstood weapon this world has to offer.

People will pull at your shirt strings

and dare to call you Pinocchio,

when their noses are the ones

that are supposed to be growing.

You born as a king,

no amount of stereotypes will change that,

they want to dismantle your crown,

as if royalty

was something to drift away

in grapevines.

Remember you are a black boy,

one of the hardest thing to be these days.

Be careful with your hands,

I’ve been hurt by boys

with sporadic fingers and dare to call themselves men.

Hands only belong where they have permission to.

This world has so many cookie jars

and shiny objects

that aren’t meant to be touched, boy.

So don’t make dark alleys and closed corners of your hips,

don’t make broken walls and body parts out of your fists,

and don’t touch all the bad parts

unless you were asked to.

Your hands have dark history

that can’t be washed off,

not even with holy water.

Be careful where you leave your handprints.

Don’t be as weak as I am;

all broken bones and and misplaced intentions.

There is no good in praying on

eggshells or tightropes,

so never risk it.

Believe me.

You’re gonna get lied to in this world

with smoke and mirrors and masks

it’s hard to know what is real

don’t be as foolish as me,

I believe in everything.

My father is lonely

so I’m lonely too,

all purgatory beds and nowhere to be needed,

I hope it can be diluted

through blood ties.

You can be alone,

but you don’t have to be lonely, love.

And you’re gonna get scared sometimes,

don’t hide it.

And I love you,

no matter what.