we love you

that “you” inside of you

telling you


“no, don’t do that”

“you don’t want that”

“that’s not meant for you”

“you’ll be disappointed”

“they’re lying to you”

“they didn’t do this thing,

so they don’t care about you”

“you’re worthless”

“if you fail, you’re worthless”

“if you’re not the best, you’re worthless”

“no one cares about what you have to say”

“you have nothing no one wants”

“no one loves you”

“no one wants your love”

“you’re ugly”

“when you wear makeup, you look desperate”

“when you wear these clothes, no one respects you”

“you have nothing going for you”

“you have no skills”

“you’re lucky to have made it this far”
“it only gets worse from here”

“no understands you”

“you don’t understand you”

“you’re all alone”

“no one can help you”

“you have no friends”

“your parents don’t care”

“tomorrow doesn’t matter”


is hurting so much

and didn’t learn how to cope with traumas

and negative experiences,

so it put them on like clothes

to weather future traumas


those thoughts are


those feelings are


no one would ever say

things like that

to someone they love


they were sick or hurting


take care of you/”you”

get better

get connected

get loved

we love you

we accept you

we are inside you


Poem: Writer’s Block

I can be a great writer

I feel it banging on the door of my skull

Trying to get down here to the tip of my pen

But goddamn when I really want it

It bars the door with a two-by-four and

All the begging won’t make ‘em come out


You know what brats like most?

Snacks-Like articles poems YouTube videos and podcasts

You know                           distractions

A release of self-contained pressure

Poem: Friday Night

hot and cold

chill and wavy

smiles come easier

so do tears

so does a wet wet and

wanting to hump the seat your ass is on


I keep telling myself I want to drink less

I keep pouring myself one more


it’s hard to cry when you don’t have a good excuse

life is a good excuse

alcohol is a better one


I don’t let it get out of hand

I have bills to pay and a responsible life to live


letting loose makes the ride a bit more exciting

compared to the drone of the nine-to-five

bumper-to-bumper sucky-fucky of the week


you know its true

so what if you get blackout drunk?

that’s what Gatorade and carbs are for


god, just feel it for once

let the water take you under and

feel the pulsing heart of the universe

I’ve felt it, its scary as fuck until you realize

the banging at the door is in your chest


it’s about you

look at yourself

who are you?

at the very least, you’re a beating heart

that’s a goddamn blessing

hug yourself and get drunk in the wave

Prose: Bath

After I worked out I was soaring hot and high like a comet. My body was limp and weak as I plopped into my car. I don’t remember the ride home. A juicy green pear lowered my elevation. A dry brushing took me higher and I felt a sensual cathartic release I wasn’t expecting. What, at first, was irritating became stimulating. An oil massage with coconut, sesame, and eucalyptus brought individual tress into view. An upper body clay mask with rhassoul clay, clove, calamus root, and cinnamon pulled me through the lowest clouds. A hot bath in magnesium, sesame, coconut, eucalyptus, and lavender oil as well as apple cider vinegar gently placed me in a hot spring. Exhale. A few seconds in a freezing rain shower and I’m tossed into a snowy river. Onto the bank, feet on the ground, I am ready to be me again.

Prose: Black Man

Sexy. Smart. Doing his thang. Met him in Café Passé with the sun at his back. He’s got me stretching to see him. Reading’s not necessary. He makes himself plain. Business card and all. Oh and we both have bomb hair. Screenwriter from Cali, I wonder what he’s like in motion. Pierre. Nice to meet you.

Prose: Genie

In a bottle of tequila. Where is the happiness I asked for? Where is the confidence you promised?


I’m a more of a social alcoholic. It feels indulgent and excessive to get wasted alone. At least if I pass out, someone will see me, hopefully help me, so I wont die. I’ve never been that drunk. I’ve never really thought I would die from alcohol poisoning. Its fun to exaggerate like, “Ahhhh, I’m so nauseous but I can’t get anything to come up!” I learned early on in my career that you have to take care of yourself. Your friends will be too drunk to help you.


Stumbling out of your friend’s car and up your steps, your mouth feels like a desert and your vision shifts like its wavy horizon. You’re so hungry your stomach feels as if its shriveling into a raisin. Jacket on the couch. Keys on the counter next to the key bowl. Shoes in the hallway. Shirt on the door knob. Skirt on the bedroom floor. Then, as if by magic, two bottles of red Gatorade and a pack of Saltines sit on your nightstand. Where did they-? Who did-? You scramble for the Gatorade with dilated eyes and moan as the cracking of the plastic seal. Thank you. The red ambrosia quenches your thirst and nourishes your body.


Who am I? Bearer of electrolytes. Breaker of bread. I am you. I am Genie.

Prose: Song

I don’t like to sing, breath in while talking, or make otherwise unusual sounds with my mouth. Can I sing? No, and that’s part of it. The other part is the vulnerability. So much of yourself can be revealed when you sing, like one’s confidence or lack thereof.

When I sing, you create my voice and its whatever you want it to be. I don’t have to worry about you missing something because you can take it one word at a time.

My song is often a sad one that’s meant to cause discomfort, reflection, and inspire courage and strength. Those painful emotions well up when sung and I don’t want to see us cry. Take my art like a pill in the comfort of you home where the bed and booze are nearby.





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