ideology

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i don’t wanna be a shred
of a pencil on your page
erasable
and fade-worthy
the very least i deserve is ink, i think
preferably something like a gel thingy
with one a them nice grips
because… because… because
yeah, i’m doing just fine

i used to be able to hang out without
somebody trying to get in my face
or trying to get in my pants
or trying to change my mind
because everyone seems to know
so much better than me
how it is
and why i’m wrong
when all i want is to sit here
and write a little poem for someone
that made me feel good today

but instead, yeah,
here’s this one from my side of the fence
telling me i sold out
just cuz i’m not nineteen anymore
just cuz i’m not naive anymore
just cuz i saw enough fucked up things to know
that my political platform buddies
make me wanna scream
YOU JUST DON’T FUCKING GET IT

because we don’t know how to listen
and we are three-year-olds throwing
temper tantrums of hope and peace and love
telling each other that we respect
each other
that we have all the answers

and no one seems to get the fact that
that factory man in nebraska don’t wanna know
shit about nothin’ but the bread on his table
and the bible under his belt

so please don’t write me down in pencil
don’t make me erasable
paint me in reds, whites and blues
because i’m one of the last ones
that gives a shit about more than ideals

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easy

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it is only on the inside that i sometimes still feel misfit
but better to misfit than to be prescribed
as the solution to someone’s missing hole

black me out with the beauty i’ve forgotten
furrow your head into the crevices i didn’t know i had

filling the cracks with my own repair kit
patching up holes with sudden realizations

how sometimes it all just makes sense

blackout

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is that your silhouette against a defective skyline?
were those fireworks against the window
of that blight they call a hotel?
is that the moon showing up finally,
shining light down onto rivington,
the night the lights really went down on broadway?

there he sat in our common pitch black
next to a white girl with dirty blonde dreads
that almost made her pretty
and certainly made her not me

my red curly curls weren’t enough
to afford me the graciousness
i once so easily commanded around here

everyone’s got their theory
and as antsy as i am i would be moreso
if i were anywhere else but here on this roof
surrounded by flashlights
flashing cops lights
and the cherries of cigarettes across the way

will i ever be able to get away with this again?

simple things

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you lay your hand on my
hand and then on my
thigh when we walk
down the street
and later when i’m
asleep in your part-time
bed you kiss my feet my
calves my thighs my back
my face sweltering and feverish
you lay your whole
body on top of
mine and with one swift
move you tell me i am yours

it is in this surrender
that my delight is free

window on a bridge

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if you can take that part of my back
that i hold most precious most dear
and make it stand out in front of
everything else
then i think i might call you my friend
i might understand what’s going on
when you think you might kiss it
but aren’t totally sure

you think what is could not be what should
and i know the same to be okay
in my world looking out your windows

i still have two and a half minutes to spend here
but i won’t know how much i’ll miss this bridge
until it thunderstorms tomorrow

fire in the LES

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i sat inside my thought-to-be-burning apartment
and firetrucks buzzed buzzed buzzed around the LES
like big horseflies around a macaroni salad
like fat mosquitos around a lamplight
like they didn’t know where to start

false alarm
brooklyn was burning
and the subways were flooded

when i walked my sandal broke
so i was left there barefooted
limping limpishly down houston
waiting for my building to burn
waiting for someone to ask me for a light
and to look confused when i handed them
that cheap-ass three dollar sandal
because my matches were already sparked