Shit Out Basketballs

Basketball was my life.

It's not anymore.

On occasion
I'll pick up a ball
or watch a game,
but this is nothing
compared to the obsession
I grew up with.

I didn't give a fuck
about women,
school,
books,
or being popular.

All I ever gave a shit about
was basketball.

Day,
night,
sleep,
wake up,
shit out
basketballs.

I'd be out there
in 100 degree weather,
completely dehydrated,
bouncing the ball
up and down the court
like a fool.

I'd be out there
in the rain,
completely soaked,
working on drills
up and down the court
like a idiot.

In the end,
I got injured
and after high school,
everything changed,
my love for the game
vanished.

I started
chasing after women
and working.

I got money,
I got pussy,
but I never got the same
satisfaction
as I would
when I hit the game winning shot.

I will probably
never get that high
again.

Seems all's
such a waste of time.

Except for
shitting out
basketballs,
of course.

Altared Boys

He set up the lines.

I could hear the tap
of his credit card
against the top of the swamp cooler
of the church.

He went first,
I sniffed next.

We immediately
broke into a conversation
that lasted
the whole night.

We even
did a lil
in the bathroom stall.

I don't remember
much
after
that.

I never saw him again.

He went on
being shady
somewhere.

I went on
being creepy
everywhere else,
with the thought that
I'd never see him again.

Perfect.

The perfect exit.

The perfect memory.

The perfect church.

Amen.

Chili Beans

I ate
a shit ton
of chili beans
that day.

Much more
than I would ever care
to eat
again.

I could feel them
rumbling in my belly,
especially after I drank a
12 pack.

Each beer
I drank
in one long
drink,
hidden away
from the family.

I was 14,
and I was drunk,
I only had four,
but I kept going
and going,
until I was feeling as good
as the rest of the family.

For once,
a family event
was tolerable.

I stayed up,
embracing the moment,
and having the time
of my life.

Eventually they all went
to sleep,
one by one,
until
I was the only
one up.

So I tried to sleep.

I couldn't.

My head was spinning,
round and round,
the world
a turbulent,
drunken mess.

oh no.

A rush of beans
came out of my throat
and on the couch.

It was the most
disgusting
puke
I've ever seen
and I've seen too much
in my lifetime.

I can still smell
the beans
to this day.

And to this day,
I will never
eat chili beans
before
I start drinking
or after.

This is
one of the many
lessons in life
I had to learn
the hard way.

Learn
from my mistakes.

A Prisoner In the Clouds

I hated all the dads
in our apartment complex.

They were all
worthless.

Very few of them
had jobs
and some
didn't exist at all.

If they were around,
they usually beat their wives,
cheated,
and took out their life's failures
on their kids.

I was one of those kids.

I had to witness
the ugliness
of their lives
and the ever growing clouds
they cast upon
their families.

I wasn't floating,
I was there,
trapped,
a prisoner in the clouds.

This is how
I learned to eat,
to fight,
to kill,
to survive.

This is how
I learned to never love
a woman,
to never trust
a man.

This is who
I am.

I accept my fate.

But I have time
to change.

Will I get out?

Will I remain
the same,
if I do?

Or will I
give in?

The cycle can only
continue
with me,
a prisoner in the clouds.

Drenched

It began to snow.

I would have been buried in it
if I hadn't been moving.

When I did stop,
I took a sip
of rum and
threw it up in an alley.

It was the result
of a 20 day drunk.

I had to do it.

I was in Chicago
and I didn't know
if I'd ever be back,
so I wiped off my mouth
and took another sip.

It stayed down.

I wasn't buried.

The snow was beautiful
and so were those lonely nights
drenched in the blues.

In Ruins

Work was terrible.

I mean the fucking worst.

Wal-Mart
and the pain it brought me
each day
was unbearable.

That night was not much different.

 After work,
I immediately raced over
to my aunt's house
to drink myself
till I shit myself.

I passed a car accident
on the way there.

The car was in ruins,
turned over,
the top smashed in
passed the seat cushions.

I thought to myself,
I hope they are alright.

They were.

All of them

Except for my brother.

He was at the morgue.

I went to my aunt's.

I didn't know he was in the car
until
my grandpa came in
and told us.

I thought I knew pain.

I thought I knew the worst.

I was wrong.

The God of Perversion

God masturbates.

It's true.

He strokes the universe,
which is his
cock
and shoots nebula,
when he ejaculates,
into the blackness.

He watches porn too.

He prefers interracial fucking.

This is where
it all
originated.

He is to blame
for this ghastly
impulsion.

Because of Him,
we all
do it.

Some
much more
than others.

I am included.

There's one tiny difference
between us:
He creates worlds,
I destroy them.

The Cliff to the Otherside

100 billion people
have died.

They all
roam the earth
among us.

We do not see them,
hear them,
or smell them,
but we can all
feel them.

They are in our bones,
our flesh.

They are everywhere.

We must respect them.

They are all watching.

They will let you know
when you
have done wrong.

They will make you
join them.

There is nothing
you can do.

Your fate
is in
their hands.

Watch your step.

The Worst

I remember thinking,
this is the worst day
of my life.

The sky was blue
and falling
all around us.

Some
might have said
it was the perfect day
and in a sense
it was.

The perfect day to go mad.

My mother did
and we were on our way
to pick her up
from a mental health clinic
in Ventura.

My cousin and me
didn't say much
the whole ride,
we were both
in unfamiliar territory,
but we knew
we couldn't leave her
there.

She had to be with us.

Just goes to show,
no matter how crazy
or depressed
or suicidal
you get,
your family
will always be
by your side
even on the worst days
of their lives.

So,
I am thankful
have such a family,
some
aren't so lucky.

They would have stayed there,
stuck
on the worst day
of their lives,
living a moment of tragedy
over
and over
again,
and again.

The Solitary Mode of Living?

I take
everything
for granted.

Never once,
do I stop
and realize
how lucky I am
to be alive,
in this day in age,
with all of these
conveniences
surrounding me.

No, no.

I am a pussy.

Hanging my head low
whenever something
goes wrong.

Anything aggravates me.

Disgusting.

Pathetic.

I must not give in
to this pussy
inside me.

I must break free.

I must,
for once,
be a man.

I'm not in the desert
in a war.
I haven't seen my mother or sister
killed or raped.
I hardly have a scratch
on my body.

I don't do shit.

Life is easy.

Life is a blessing.

I should treat as such
and marvel at every bit
of existence.

There is no other way.

Well,
I guess I could
lock myself in a room
until mother earth
sets us on fire,
but
forget it.

Too much waiting.

I'd rather
get out there
and die every second
with all of you.

This Year

I haven't seen her
this happy
in years.

Usually,
the winter is cold
and unrelenting
and long.

It's a constant reminder
of death.

This year seems
to be different.

Usually,
the punishing frost
makes her want
to slit her wrist
to the bone.

This year
it's a little bit
warm
and she
has a glow,
a confidence
in herself
that makes me smile.

This year
we can finally
celebrate
our lives.

Goddammit
we are
happy.

For now....

Some Things Never Change

We'd steal,
mainly chardonnay
or whatever we could get our
tiny little hands on.

We needed the rush,
the entertainment,
the escape
from our childhood miseries.

We didn't have any
video games.

We didn't read any
textbooks.

We were hoodlums.

We'd carry a duffel bag
around town
and steal alcohol
like other kids
stole candy.

Then, we'd cruise,
mainly to the creek,
or to the park,
or the rec center,
or even
back to school.

We were growing
into the bottle.

"My niece is that age.
It scares me,"
He said.

I didn't reply.

He wouldn't understand.

He still
plays video games.

He's 27.     I'm 28.

I'm fully grown
into the bottle.

I guess
some things never change.