Amazing at Football

At the first poetry club meeting, I tried to teach the kids how to write a slam poem. I told them to think of things from their past that had made them sad, mad, or hurt them; and to write about it. One method I told them was to write as if they were saying everything they had ever wanted to say to someone, if that person had to listen and couldn't interrupt. I didn't quite do that, but I tried taking my own advice and this is what popped out.

Amazing at Football

There's a kid
who carves swastikas
into his eyelids
and his cheeks
he's pretty creepy
but I can talk to him about you
he understands
all the things I want
to do to you
not really, I suppose
neither of us do
we're both in 4th grade
we don't really know what it means
to tie someone up
out in the woods
cut them a thousand times
add salt and vinegar
and let them lie there
for a few weeks
we talk about it
I, I dream about it
but we've probably just seen it
in the movies
sure, it's monstrous
but for ou
it's more than you deserve
my mother doesn't scream
not when you put her
through the shower door
not when you wrap your hands
around her throat
not when you're stringing nooses
in the backyard
there's thuds and grunts
but she only screams
when you come after us
my sisters are not sluts
my brother and I are not pieces of shit
you could've worked for Pinochet
you know every spot on the body that hurts
from the web of the ears
to the nerves in the armpit
they cry, they scream
so Mom screams
I don't
not anymore
I don't scream
I don't cry
I'm used to it
thanks to you
I do not feel pan
I'm aware it exists
but I can turn it off
like a switch
I will say this
it makes me amazing at football
good thig I'm the oldest
that I'm big, that I'm a boy
it means I piss you off the most
it means I can take the heat
off the others
I can handle the fists
and the belt
and the boots
it means I can endure
it means I'm gonna be awesome at football
but
it doesn't mean I'm strong enough
to stand up to you
to feed you a steak knife
while you sleep
to Mark McGwire a cast-iron skillet
at your temple
while you're busy
with someone else's neck
to end you and our suffering
to make the lives
of six roses and one hawk
better
I'm amazing at footbal
but you don't care,
and I'm sick of it
sick of the question
"what does your father do?"
and making up some new story
so sick of hearing
"he's such a great father"
and biting back the truth
sick of tasting the salt in my blood
like the lies of home sweet home
so sick of being a father
at 12, 14, 16, 18
so sick of being terrifie
of worrying about blood on the walls
when I call the house
and no one picks up the phone
I'm sick of making more money than you
I'm in high school
it's not my job
to put food on the table
I'm sick of the numb horror
at watching someone else
hit the wall floor furniture
because I didn't get in the way
fast enough
I'm sick of all this
and it makes me fucking amazing at football
because I run on rage
I channel fire and hell
I put kids in the hospital
I run raw fuck you all across 100 yards
white hot yellow supernova
and it scares teh fuck out of me
because I look like you
I sound like you
and my biggest fear
is that I am you
that this fire
that runs me
that loves me
that consumes me
is yours
my model for life
is everything you are not
my to-do list is
everythin you never did
my moral code
is not doing what you are
so I used to speak to Swastika Boy
of vigilantism and vengeance
I broke the children of the woods
while they broke my legs and hands
ntil the screams are gone
I took and tossed girls
like the Band-Aids they weren't
it's so much easier to help someone else
than to fix yourself
let me love you
and be your needy cure
but I've seen where that goes
and my worst future is your footsteps
so forget being amazing at football
I found release for rage in ink
on skin
and page
I don't need this fire
I've got water and ice
to melt the mountains
to wash it all away
fuck football
I'd rather be the real thing
you never even imagined
a friend
a lover
a partner
a husbad
a son
a human
an artist
a worker
a person
a man

I dont' think it reads very well, but it was fun, and it's good to perform. This week, I think.

Love is Strong

I wrote this back in mid-January; I thought one of my friends was being fucked with, and after playing basketball for three hours, I sat in the hot tub with a six pack and wrote this, start to finish, save a few line edits.

Love is Strong

Now I've heard 'em say
that love is strong
and I used to think
that they were wrong
because it can not
hold two people together
but that's not
the appropriate measure
the fact is
it can pin you to the wall
and that's it means
when love conquers all

I know because it happened to my friend
saw it trap the happiest of men
didn't take a doctor to know she wasn't right
calling someone else in the middle of the night
caught and snared, but not even out of spite
just drawn like a moth to her white pixie light
and she forgot to tell him that her heart just might
belong to her ex, trapped in his bite
but he swore back tears to be her white knight
he withered and he strained and his pride grew slight
love found him, and it was strong alright
Baby Cupid caught him square in his sights
and shot him out the sky like a broken kite
broke his legs no flight
took his heart no fight
you tell me love is strong
I look at his broken body
and I think you're right

because I've heard 'em say
that love is strong
and I used to think
that they were wrong
because it can't hold
two people together
but that's still not
the appropriate measure
the fact is, it can
pin you to the wall
and that's what they mean
when they say love conquers all

I know because of what happened to my mom
it kept her married to John
for twenty years too long
and I'm lucky that my mom's not a swan
because she might have ended up broken and gone
victim of a monster blue-eyed and blond
with no heart, no brains, all brawn
a man who would've shot Bambi the fawn
June 2006, she ripped up the Autobahn
she came flying down thirty
cause she was tired of hurting
that day was too much, and she had to flee
but it took a car crash to finally set us free
we uprooted half of our family tree
terrifying as it was, it still filled me with glee
my mother, I love her, she's an angel to me
but she showed me the truth of love to see
that even when it's wrong
or all gone
love is still strong

maybe it will hold
two people together
but that's still not
the appropriate measure
the fact is that sure,
love conquers all
it can kill you
and nail you to the wall

if you've got it
your heart's sinking, your mind's racing
you're not thinking, the truth's facing
staring you right in the eye
you look and you swallow and kiss it goodbye
no way are you gonna think about it
I'd rather let my mind tiptoe around it
it's a crushing boulder on your shoulders
a truth you bear when you get older
that love is strong and the young are wrong
I personally know love is strong
all those little bits of memories that keep you hanging on
after everything's gone
and you're crying to old songs
every conversation's a self-con
she's the queen to your pawn
and nothing matters, not brains or brawn
you're still hoping and talking to her mom
weeping and watching a rising red dawn

it's a rope around your throat
a little something to help you choke,
all those little bits of hope
the girl who made me hyphy
I was gonna make her wifey
but she wasn't right, see
she loved me only slightly
she killed me impolitely
stabbed by her knife-y
and even though she still texts on the low
still I know, I gotta let her go
see it's like Janus, two-faced
meeting someone new and find out how their lips taste
just two holding hands out ahead of the rat race
it can make extraordinary out of the everyday commonplace
but the one that you love might really be a snake
then your mind's a waste
you ache for their embrace
lost, alone, drifting in space
slammed back to earth
with a broken sense of self-worth
so love's a blessing and a curse
because it brings both misery and mirth
kisses and hugs and a kick to the groin
you might as well flip a coin
you don't know anything about the future
you just hope you don't end up with holes sutured
all throughout your chest
you give it your best
and then deal with the mess
the pieces, the bits, and all the rest
the hope, the rope wrapped around your neck
of memories of the past and all that's left
so you gotta decide if it's worth the stress
ask yourself
do you like wearing a blindfold
or is not knowing gonna turn your heart cold
because if you're caught in Cupid's chokehold
then you decide if you're gonna let go
and take that ride
and let love burn inside
you can try and try and try
and you might succeed
and find the one you need
the one for whom you do heroic deeds
who'll take your hand and lead
if you're ever in need
or end up on your knees
with your heart on your sleeve
ripped out so you can't even breathe
with no blood left to bleed

I'm telling you,
I know love is strong
Now I know they weren't wrong
Love, man, it really does conquer all
It'll kill ya and nail ya to the wall

Tumblr(Othello)

A couple weeks ago, I was drunk. I slipped and looked at her blog; I wrote the idea that night before I passed out, and wrote most of it during professional development the next day.

"Tumblr(Othello)"

I don't know
why I flip
to your blog
in these witching hours
I think
it's the look in your eyes
the way that they shine
like the light from a diamond
locked in a mineshaft
that light comes from within
it shines in my memory
it shines in the pictures of you
everywhere else
it shines, scarlet letters
burning in my mind
like Vegas lights, enthusiastic
all the implications of
"when I finally got home in the morning"
and the grins you might've rode, enthusiastic
I don't know why
I don't like the way it feels
like my insides are dry snakeskins
tangled, chafing, and sliding
while an icepick pounds my navel
to the rhythm of a broken heart
fire and ice
is not the theme for a party
it's my guts
when the future becomes the present
it arrived
it's here
and you left
I'd say
I don't like jealousy
I don't like pain
but I guess
that's what it was always about
two months of animal tango
two years of emotional krumping
we traded bitemarks for boredom
confidence, mistrust
and I swapped your scratches on my back
proudly worn
for the crown of Othello.
Desdemona didn't know
there is no proof of innocence
with guilt, you can at least
get the proverbial lipstick on the collar
the accidental phone call
the crusted latex behind the pillow
the brand-new bruise on the thigh
when you haven't seen 'em all week
or the choicest chocolate of them all,
certain proof -
spotting the two backed beast
heaving out, a, brilliant, red, A!
but there is no proof of fidelity
merely the absence of its opposite
there's no proof in arched backs
or loving caresses
that calms the one choking on
the sick green spoiled meat
of jealousy
I will tell you what jealousy is
it's hating the guy you used to be
before you gave in
and went back, uncertain
now the only certainty you have
is that you'll catch her again
if you look hard enough
her head, napping on your shoulder
must be exhausted from afternoon delight
her phone's free of anything suspicious
--she must've deleted them already
there's no proof of innocence
there's no proof someone's changed
you can't ever know if someone's reformed
you're left feeling
like a hunchbacked Dickensian war criminal
awkwardly moving atop a willing actor
adrift in the open sea
because every smile
hides something you don't know
maybe this crown
is why I'm here again
creeping your footsteps electronic
in this rather undignifed hari-kari
I throw myself at that shine
hoping to finally hit bottom
to hit zero, to hit reset
maybe if it hurts enough
I can die to start again
and free myself of Othello's crown