If you've never been rocked back by the presence of purpose this poem is too soon for you. Return to your mediocrity, plug it into an amplifier and rethink yourself.

The first time my town saw the sky it sucker-punched us in the throat, left us breathless, said, I'm gonna keep you awake some nights without touching you. You'll make it up, the pain, you always do.

Jordan tattoos the words "forgive me" in thick black letters down the inside of his arm so that when he looks at his wrist he will remember not to hate himself so much. What he keeps forgetting is that there is life after survival.

I am standing like shoe polish on an overstocked shelf hoping that one day someone will pick me to make things better.

You're a free-standing landing pad held together by choir claps.

Even good hearts know how to turn bad touch and genocide into clichés just to make room for more comfort.

Stop inviting walls into wide open spaces.