(2014)
#SickPoems
She is no longer Part of my life I’ve moved on My life is full With friends
Your enthusiasm exhausts me This coke is flat The bubbles disperse Leaving a sticky and sweet Aftertaste
It’s not that I’m sad Though I am It’s not that I’m discouraged Though I am It soaks deeper
To be a true artist Must they be recluses Crazy mad or sick Or even better dead Show me a healthy artist
What if one day I wasn’t there for you? And you were left needing me If I wasn’t there When you woke up
A healthy pancreas Is like a transmission Seamlessly shifting gears In type 2 diabetics Wear and tear
Filler words Put me to sleep Added to cushion Take away my pillow Blunt words to wake up
Most women are cooks But a man who cooks Is a chef She cooks over and over To feed the masses
My poems are short Written at night In my head I wake at dawn Shake my memory
Don’t talk down to me I am not a child! Even children Deserve respect
Clinical smells Polite strangers The only thing worse Than being here Is to not be able
Escogí las palabras Más adecuadas Por lo que yo Quería decir Abrí la boca
When the emotion comes up It feels like heartburn Like acid Clenching my throat My ears go watery
I cannot divide My heart Into four pieces Equally Geometrically
Well-intentioned stranger Eyeing me limp through HEB Why would you ask If I stepped on a nail? How do you know