The Nightly Owl

to the sick child who i can’t hug goodbye: please come back after you see the light. earth is in need of angels.

my mama  asked me to write her  a poem but what she really needed was medicine.

let us all become candles giving love to every wick we can until our collective light shines so bright earth sparkles like the sun

when you find peace eyes become mirrors absorbing  your light in the shape of smiles and laughter and joyous tears

it’s crazy the things we do the people we trust the drugs we take just to feel warm.

give a man a woman and you satisfy him for a night; teach a man to love and you satisfy him for life.

don’t look in my eyes while i center  myself i don’t want you to see the hurricane of darkness settling inside

in the grand scheme of things you don’t really matter. you will die just like the stars  you were “destined” to write about.

so fuck your ego. fuck your bullshit identity. fuck who you think you are and who you think you should be. fuck what i think. fuck what they think. do what you love. love who you love. and fucking die. with grace.

i used to reject myself as a poet because  it didn’t seem manly.

my brother still won’t comment on my poems because he is as i was  afraid of emasculation.

now  i wonder how many gifts the world has lost due to the falsely construed idea of manliness.

feminism is great but  women don’t shoot up schools. so maybe  we should focus on something other than the nineteen and a half cents  you don’t make every hour. maybe it’s more important to the save the children who die  because men are taught to be silent. maybe it’s time to fix problems at their core. maybe it’s time we teach empathy in schools so the sad lonely boy ignored in the corner doesn’t need a gun to express his emotions. stats scream out  ninety-six percent of school shooters are male and men are three times more likely to commit suicide. so maybe  we should stop ignoring the silent ones. instead of only attending to those who complain.

it’s okay to feel unhappy with yourself once in a while.

a flower won’t bloom if the leaves are satisfied.

her baby face is caked with make up and she walks like a woman in her high heels but it’s obvious the world never gave her  time to crystallize   a chrysalis and now she navigates life as a caterpillar with wings

flipping a coin to see  if God is real