These days, I refuse to let you see me

the way I see myself.

I wake up in the morning not knowing

whether I will make it through the day;

reminding myself of the small, small things

I’ve forgotten to marvel in;

these trees, blood-free and bone-dry

have come to rescue me more than once,

but my saving often requires hiding

yet they stand so tall, so slim and gluttonous

refusing to contain me; even baobab trees

will split open at my command, and

carve out fleshless wombs to welcome me.

I must fall out of love of the world

without me in it, but my loves have

long gone, and left me in a foreign land

where once I was made of bone,

now water, now nothing.

Isn't it funny

when suddenly after all these decades

you notice a new part of your body.

 

Maybe the hamstrings—

entirely unused when lifting weights,

back used instead

which then pains for years.

 

Maybe the slight shoulder raise

that tightens those muscles

maybe for good.

 

I notice my body

slide through time.

It is odd and peculiar,

genius of no one,

a perfect clock

making clocks

look simple.

 

Newness comes naturally.

Resisting it causes the past

to present memories on yellow

platters.

 

My age is a number.

Bones getting ready to play poker.

I will remain a small book

hidden away deep

in the library.

 

I love my body and this world!

Such a declaration

five years ago

would've driven me insane.

 

But now an appreciation arrives

with a fine taste of sulfur

and anywhere I look is born

a rose.

I told a million lies now it’s time to tell a single truth
Sometimes I cry
It’s hard dealing with my pride
Not knowing whether to fight or flee
Sometimes I cry
Hard to maintain this image of a tough guy
When deep down inside I am terrified
If I ever told you I wasn’t scared I lied
Struggling to make it back
To society and my family
I cry
I cry for my son who I barely see
Due to these mountains
And me and his mom’s beef
I cry for my siblings who never knew their older brother
Because he stayed in the streets
I cry for my grandma who is now deceased
I cry for my life, half of which they took for me
I cry for my anger and rage
The only emotions I can show in this place
I cry for how we treat each other inside these walls
I cry for the lack of unity we have most of all
When will it end I want to know
Till then all I can do is let these tears flow