There’s s a little chaos that happens when Erics meet. I’m sure each name has it’s own idiosyncrasies; us Eric’s most prominent is the C or K or even the freakish C-K that can (doesn’t mean you should, C-Ks) end our first name. There may one day be a Hana cringing at this spelling of Hannah, and I’m sorry. For fairness: sup… Ericks…. I’ve met Erics and Ericas of all races and ages. I don’t know if our parents or unoriginal or trailblazers, but the google result sounds really cool and invokes the word “ruler,” so it’s possibly just a…
It’s letting all my thoughts Burn in fear Until that’s all I am Until I feel better And like that I’m 9 again Still woozy from the antiseptic waiting room Maroon seats, next to my mother Overhearing her later Tell my father what a placebo is And know they think I don’t understand That I’m a liar Because why would a boy Still, quite Have pain radiating from his sternum? Tired yet always sleeping Because it wasn’t a lie They put there About drugs Or if I’d been hit, beaten I tossed those pills away And learned not to trust…
I wrote this poem to capture the general feeing I have going into writing essays for scholarships for next year. Trying to brainstorm just leaves my skull feeling sticky and weird….
it’s super fun being able to check off things, even if they’re required human things like like “grocery shopping” or “try to only stream 3 episodes of anything.”
3 people found dead near I-25 and Broadway last week were killed by gunshots, Denver coroner says Everyone wants Turn up at compassion Left out from the check list prayer before bed Danger streets awake at night Sleeping through the safety of day Still not safe Thinking about my empty garage The empty spaces in my lawn Inherited pots remind me Stew, chili, soup High yield routine compassion Ladled out While I eat $3 yogurt Caring more because the bodies People found 500 ft. off my light-rail stop
Centered, a Centered Self was the first title I tried. Worldly, together, not too sanctimonious. Maybe true, in my room of instruments, the tapestry and swirls of incense. Brands of laid back peace and all truth told, I roll a beautiful joint. Trust in the meaning I make from the smoke. Your skin IS too beautifully brown to risk forgetting your ID. How ideas and viewpoints transform and change. The privileged fucking arrogance of even having an ID, a talisman of luck until it isn’t. It’s easier to slip into thinking time is the enemy. Fuck you, 2018! News, a…
Trying hard to ignore The Wall, deteriorating immigration policy, DACA; the fresh price tag of GLBTQ rights already being peeling and frayed at the edges.
“You get back what you put into the world, sunshine.”
“So yeah, I’d like it if my obituary mentioned that I’m a Kentucky Colonel.”
But how was your day?