Author: poetryfest

All of the people that I care about care about me.
Through thick and thin, right? They really do care for me.
That’s why they couldn’t send me a birthday card this year or the last,
And instead send me tumbleweed and they’re second-hand crap.
Through thick and thin, right? These people stand by me.
When we’re at events together they make sure they’re upright and adjacent to me.
All of the people that I care about acknowledge the simple fact
That I am living and breathing. I live to appease not to attack.
That’s why they send me tumbleweed. They know that I won’t fight back.
They’ll keep giving me shit and I’ll keep taking their crap.
But I’m not a doormat. Not for anyone in fact.
If nobody’s there to start with then they can never leave or turn their backs.
Or maybe they’re just selfish to the core
Just like people who are kind and caring would be, I’m sure.

I am a cancer
At least that what others told me
My birthday is July 14
They told me that is not what they mean
I thought it was because I am just a teen
I search for a mass
I have searched for a hard lump
Like I look for a marble in a sea of grass
I fear and expect to find a bump
I have searched my head
I feel this constant dark mood
I fear a growth as a lay in my bed
I only desire to get it removed
If I can find the cancer I can be free
I can go explore and make friends
Not be afraid to sail the dark seas
And be able to make amends
My mom told me today I got cancer
I asked her how does she know
She says it’s who you are Alexander
I guess that’s how I was sewn
My dad told me yesterday I need to go
Go where I asked confused
He says I don’t care boy
I stood there unsure of whether to be amused
Or realize this is not a simple word throw
Threats are common in my house
Not all become reality
But apparently this is real I suppose
As my bags were packed because of my sexuality
That’s what the note said next to my toy mouse
whore was written on its anatomy
All I did was kiss someone of my gender
Just a touch of lip
But it created a large bender
And i now I belong to an imaginary pimp
The romantic touch was a bliss
Until the photo got sent to my parents
Now everything is a mess
And I can’t find a place to rent
A kiss is a sin
But abuse is okay
I got tossed in a bin
my family won’t pay
We live in a world
Where being gay is a cancer
To those who say they follow God I am no longer just Alexander
I belong to the underworld
I may be a cancer
But not the sign of fear or of death
I will be a prancer
And find a place to have a pure breath

n the fringes of a dense forest
plants poke through ground cover.
Scrawny, light deprived saplings and
ferns snatch at wavering rays of sun.
Scattered throughout, two unlike greens

The poison ivy raises kneecap high,
bunched where it’s easiest to walk.
Loopy shuffles allow passage around
without transferring oil onto pants
and that evening onto hands and face.

The mint keeps vegetative distance
from its brethren and the ivy,
the leaves shiny, the smell faint
until the leaves are crushed underfoot
Or, irresistibly, plucked and chewed.

These two sparse-leafed, patient swales
would be overwashed in open grasses
and wait in uncluttered dimness
for the rot or fire that lets in more light
or the slow death of darkness

(After Carolyn Forche)

A stranger knocked at her door and said,

“So, are you going to write about yourself for the rest of your life? Or do you want to come to my country where a war is coming with your fellowship and learn something.”

So, I read her book about how she took him up on his offer.

I read it cover to cover stopping only to go to the kitchen to eat or go to the bathroom to pee or go to the bedroom to sleep while she went to his country (where a war was) coming to learn.

Most people don’t want to read poets, finding us snooty, hob nob, and hoity toity.

Most people find poems obscure, oblique, and difficult, and think poets do it on purpose.

Most people find they have to go slow, have to take time and can’t just buzz through it.

Someone once asked me if I was a poet and I said No, poets have no cred in our country,

And people will think I think too much of myself,

And that I’m going to write about myself for the rest of my life.

Goodbye
My Pumpkin Pie
You sweet delicious friend
I grant you reprieve
My delightful autumn treat
Before your final end

Even though
Im shutting the door slow
And letting the darkness in
Dream of me
As I dream of thee
Yearning to see you again

Try as I might
To make it through the night
Your tasty memory still lingerin’
Cream in my hand
Its three AM
Yet instead of tired, I’m grinnin’

I sit down with my plate
Somewhere between early and late
Listening to the red robin wakin’
Licking my lips
Warm milk I sip
A sinful treat I don’t regret bakin’

Sugar and dopamine
Pie and whipped cream
Happiness in the form of a chemical reaction
As the fluorescent light glows
My loneliness grows
You were just my delicate distraction

As I take the last bite
And wander into the dying night
Pensively pondering if you miss me
I tuck myself in
To a bed I’m not sharin’
Will I always be this lonely