Proof of Evolution

Proof of Evolution

The gills in my lungs that are dormant,
I would reawaken.
If it is your love
That I can drink in.
You are the carbon,
Of which my being is based,
If I could say what it is that I adore about you.
It would be your taste.
Your taste in men like me
Is what leaves me stunned.
Where other’s saw hundreds,
You only saw one.
Vines grew
Out of old scars,
As you unraveled my mind.
Playing your guitar.
My smile was covered,
By the afro you maintain.
After I kissed your forehead,
While we stood in the rain.
The right to defend your love is not mine.
Though I will take up arms,
If so ever came the time.

Are You Sure You Want To Delete This File?

Are You Sure You Want To Delete This File?

Nostalgia hit me today.

I compiled a to-do list for the day like I always do. Today I planned to purge my Facebook of all the pictures from when I use to party every weekend with friends. Some of who are still around and others that have moved on with their lives.

I stumbled onto old photos of me and an ex.

You know, ‘the ex.’

The one that put you on that spiral downward; like the water running down the kitchen sink. The water you used to wash the coffee mug that she gave you as a gift on a random day.

I decided to look back at old memories. Scrapping the walls of the hollow parts of my heart that will lay dormant for the rest of my life. The spaces that she used to occupy. A start up that didn’t generate enough revenue to stay afloat so now it’s just an abandoned overpriced office space that no one will be able to afford.

Videos of music festivals, nightly strolls, and fun campus events from the college that we both attended.

The video that told me to call it quits was a video of her standing at a bar bobbing her head to live music. And just when I was about to stop recording she looks at me. Not at the camera on the phone that’s recording her, but at me. And a smile stretches itself across her face. Her eyes squinting from the weight of her happiness. And in that moment as I look at the video I smile back at her. Wishing I could reach through the screen and tell her how sorry I was for not listening hard enough. How sorry I was for not placing myself​ in her shoes when all she needed me to do was digest every syllable that left her lips that night she cried to me in the car.

I didn’t delete the video. Not yet. Maybe the next time I try to purge the mistakes from my life I’ll have the guts to.

Untitled 001

Untitled 001

I love how different we are
How like stars we are
Complex with similar elements to let us know we all belong to the same existence
Walking around I take note of the differences and I acknowledge the spectrum
Taking note that we’re starting to realize that life isn’t so binary
Life isn’t So black and white
Life isn’t So wrong and right
Understanding that life is like a romance novel where you go back and read your favorite chapters
Where you remember the laughter
and the conversations and contemplation
The ones that made you a better observer.
A better listener
A better lover
A better friend
Someone who lives and breathes with compassion.



In a misguided attempt to fly without wings he fell to his doom. Living his life based on the opinion of his peers. He made no room for himself inside his soul. Shoving and constricting. Twisting and bending to fit into the iron box that was constructed by people who didn’t even know his last name. In the day time he played video games and read research about evolution while listening to Herbie Hancock.

At night he roamed the streets while kicking over trashcans filled with his parent’s expectations. Wondering in his mind if they too, were misguided. Howling at the moon like a crazed wolf. Waking up in places unfamiliar. Next to warm bodies that held onto him like he was the last breath that they would ever need. Holding him down like vines over abandoned concrete. His soul waiting on the street sweeper to cleanse the debris.

He laid there; In a catatonic state, wondering.

“Why doesn’t anyone rescue me?”

He is use to being the one that people retreat to.

When the front line is being bombarded by arrows. When the spears strike from a distance that doesn’t allow retaliation.

He stands with his arms extended toward the chaos-

not expecting for anyone to save him.



She worries about her smile,
All the while it reminds me of starlight in the moonlight.
Just as works of art take time to develop

like photographs in a dark room.
She were beautiful before the cocoon,
And she will be after.

Her interest in her inadequacies,
And the probability of her not being enough is a miscalculation,
Of what she can bring to the relation.
And to that I say;
She is the reason my cup runeth over.
I don’t mind being sober while we sit by the fire that grows between us.
Small goodbyes and indulgent hellos,
Becoming entangled as we run our fingers through each others fros.
She is the monarch butterfly who’s design can’t be replicated.
Intricate be design with eyes that leave me sedated.

With banter that is witty and insightful,

The time I spend with her is always delightful.

Organic conversation that is pure,

For the loneliness that I feel-

She is the cure.

She Was A Dreamweaver

She Was A Dreamweaver

She implanted dreams of intimacy.

As she locked her legs around me I closed my eyes.

Only to open them and to realize that I am lying right beside her.

She’s sound asleep with her mouth slightly open.

I admire how cute she is when she’s peaceful and I sink back into the bed.

Closing my eyes only to see her twist and bend as I sink into her.

Honey begins to seep down her walls over the paintings of her desires.

I hear her mumble something under her breath; what I could only assume was a fire spell.

A warmth is felt as I am taken to the space between two hydrogen molecules.

Us blending to create something more pure than water.

She whispers my name and again my eyes close.

Revealing her half naked body partially covered by the bed sheets.

Her right arm and leg laid over me as she slept.

There was a pressure in my shorts and a scent in the air.

A scent unfamiliar, but I knew it’s origin.

Something ancient in me stirred as I leaned in closer.

Her eyes slowly opened and she stared.

Both of us smiling as we closed our eyes to re-enter our dream.

I Lost My Ex-Girlfriend’s Jacket

I Lost My Ex-Girlfriend’s Jacket

I was holding onto it.

It covering my shoulders that she would massage as I played video games.
Covering my back that she use to lay on as we watched episodes of British television.
It was the color of dark grey; the color that matched the clouds that hang over my psyche while I dug ditches under the memories that plagued my mind uncontrollably.
Six brown buttons made of wood that held engravings from a time when I listened to the earth with more than just my ears.
Back when I use to leave them unbuttoned just so she knew I was always ready for a hug.
The only jacket that didn’t have inner pockets, because I had someone who I could talk to so there was no reason to conceal anything.
The front pockets housed the trinkets that were created every time we both said ‘i love you’ to each other.
They were overflowing and the seams stretching beyond the gravestone that rest right under the pleatuea that our relationship had reached.
Still haven’t seen a view as grand as that one.
Trying to retrace my steps to gain what I had lost in the bustle of trying to live a free and prosporous life.
There must have been someone else that picked it up who you was just passing by.
My attention was elsewhere;

The jacket that I had worn during my most trying of days was now no longer in my possession.
Searching my closet several times before I leave to start my day.
Thinking that it must of fell somewhere in a place where I couldn’t see or reach it easily.
It’s odd that I wore the jacket even though it didn’t fit me as well as my others, but still it was my favorite.
Right under the faux leather jacket made by Levi that I would wear over it if the temperature was at an unbearable degree.
As I tried to remember where I misplaced the jacket I began to realize that my favorite pieces of clothing were the same color as the different shades of her skin.
My sadness that came from reminising was something that I wrote off as being normal with someone who was in the same state that I was.
My favorite part about her was how her dark shades reflected the colors of life around her.
She was a prism of ebony that wove intricate tapastries of color just as the fabric of my dark grey jacket did to form something beautiful.

She wasn’t for me.
And just as the jacket that she bought me had now been misplaced.
I’ve come to the understanding that the jacket wasn’t for me either.