Float away gently. Let your feet lift up off the pebbles. Recall those younger pastimes Of sticking branches in the mud. Accept the older pastimes. The worry. The longing. The striving. Indulge yourself for a moment, But then leave it all behind. For suffering is weighty, And you can't let your heels sink in. Entering this Earth should be like leaving it.

I am so imperfect I don’t speak the best English I don’t even know when to use a comma, But hey, that’s the game of artificiality Will judgment ever go out of style? It’s always: “You’re not doing this enough” “You’re doing too much of this now” Why does “this” matter so much to you When “this” is me, not you Am I ever going to be enough? You have put so many problems in my head Will you ever give me a hug for just trying to “be”?

An excerpt from Civil Hands directed by Tim Miller and performed at Louisiana State University This is a story About a breathing boy On a breathing hill With another breathing boy And how one of those boys became Breathless Lying on our backs We watched a flurry of lights above us Breathing Not sure if they were really moving at all We realized that hands were exactly the same size Breathing With two palms pressed together Our fingers intertwined Breathing It happened With our hands still as one Breathing He put his weight against me On top of me Still breathing Pushing my body into the grass Into the ancient burial ground beneath us Breathing But somehow still seemed to be above the rest of the world It felt like I was sinking through the grass Breathing I could feel the earth all over me And then he released me Breathing Our one hand became two The link between our bodies broken Breathing And still I...

                  (s et to simple chords) Little mouse staring at a round yellow moon; “Is it small and close or big and far away?” He thinks to himself as he ponders the moon, “Yes I believe I'd like to visit it one day. Here on Earth I've got this hole in the ground. It's comfy and all but I feel my time's running out.”                                                                            The river runs high on the days that I am feeling washed about and waterlogged down. They tend to be accompan...

For every man that has every been called nigger, faggot, or trash daily… as a child For every man that knows what it is like to be beaten …as a child for no reason For every man that knows what it is like to be molested …as a child and not even come to realize it until you were an adult… For every man who thought his best days… as a child, were when he was asleep…I would like you to know, with the deepest sincerity and best intentions, …that you have the right to feel.

Micah contacted Louisiana Words and was excited to participate in this writing movement. He also hopes to help build the Louisiana Words family in Baton Rouge. He is  Communications Director   at   Capital City Alliance ,   Secretary of the Board   at   Louisiana Trans Advocates   and   Communications Coordinator   at   Equality Louisiana (EQLA)  Micah says, "I j ust write to describe something that is happening to me or around me. I really look at how the body can be used creatively to communicate, so a lot of the stuff I write is a description of some corporeal experience." Micah's style and vision is welcomed.

The hardness cracked Shards of ice, glass, stone— Whatever had encased that pulsing piece of me— Rushed from the center They scattered in all directions Toward the surface One touch had done this Now sharp peaks were erupting— Piercing the surface of my body from the inside As each of these daggers— Which I had molded myself— Freed itself from the prison within me Warmth burst from the gaps Left in my skin Not just warmth, but warm liquid Liquid that trickled and out Down surfaces, no longer smooth, but broken These red rivers that wished to escape the confines of my body Served as a reason, an excuse, an invitation For lips and tongue to further explore These explorations more thrilling than the touch The rhythm quickened inside It beat with more intensity It became quicker, and quicker still Until I thought there to be no choice I had to stop this My body could handle no more And then I was thrown into ecstasy ...

If I, a man, feel like holding the hand of another man in public Surely don’t think it’s to make you uncomfortable Would it make you uncomfortable with a man and woman Affection is Affection, what’s the difference? If a group of cowardly men were to surround me Foolishly showing their ignorance by calling me names, With my arms folded, I will stand there with a slight grin And say directly, “I ain’t scared of you, confused little boys.” Should any man be so irrational enough to use violence To intimidate me out of public view, back into a closet, I would protect myself and my man with my brawn For some people can’t be reasoned with logic or words 

So now your son is dead And you want to grieve for his untimely death. Please accept my condolences. You decided to come to the funeral home and expected to be welcomed with open arms. But you were sadly mistaken! You seem to have forgotten that your son was MY husband. And that you disowned him years ago. For so many years he felt the hatred that spewed forth from your venomous mouth, And when he finally broke free, You decided to blame ME for everything that was WRONG with him. Well, let me tell you something!! There was not a DAMN thing WRONG with my husband. Yes, there were little things that kinda irritated me, but I’m sure that feeling was mutual. But the very thing that you thought was WRONG with your son Is the VERY thing that I LOVED about him. Your son taught me about pride, honor, friendship and love; The kind of things he NEVER got from you. But he NEVER blamed you. You see, it’s hard to blame ignorance on the ignorant. ...

We've been driving on the I-10 for sometime now It says the next exit isn't for another… Well we’re not sure when the next exit is We've been too busy singing old pop songs Reminiscing about all those good times we had We know when we do exit, the traveling will end The journey has been worth it But to say we even can make sense of where we are coming from … or where the next exit leads as we cruise with the windows down To say we knew anything about how I-10 related to life, Could not be said with any certainty or direction But regardless of all the vague factors we experienced We all knew…we were almost there And we were nervous and excited to be going “there”

A tight cap has encompassed my skull for a month or two or six. It squeezes my thoughts to a dangerous realm where they face the parasite worry and oh too often succumb to it. Thinking back to times without the dreadful cap, I squirm and I peel at its ridges. My hairs seek liberation! My eyebrows feel encroached upon! It's warm outside! I need no cranial covering! It is time for your departure, cap, that weights my every daydream. I'd love your demise but a toss in the closet will do. Now why don't you let loose the band you've got wrapped round my forehead. I, promise, then to find you quite a nice hook.

Dr. Hinojosa now if you him well. He recently read at Louisiana Words: Redemption and had the audience fall in love with his humor. Though, he has been a friend of mine (Louis) since 2008, and it is an absolute pleasure to have another friend join along for the movement. Bryan is a native of Texas, but he strongly supports writing in any community. He is a great, nice guy and very funny. He doesn't have Facebook, so the day he does, I am sure it we will know it.

Jason Smith is extremely kind and I (Louis) had the pleasure of first meeting him a Ted Richard's house. I ran into him again and we started discussing writing and he told me he had written something in regards World Aids Days. I wanted to get Jason on the blog and told him that I would be glad to share this because being concerned with community issues that effect everyone is welcome any day. We don't have to wait until December 1st to spread awareness. Hopefully, Jason plans on continuing his voice. We are thankful to have someone else opening our eyes with their words.

“Thank the God,” whispered Elias, opening the rusted trunk he had recently uncovered from a pile of dust-covered rubble, “Food!” There were tins: some crushed in upon themselves, missing labels; large ones with beans, red and white; smaller ones with yellow slivers and white hemispheres: canned fruit, the only form of the food Elias had ever known; and smaller, flatter tins of fish meat, an animal Elias had never seen. Medical supplies and other inedible detritus littered the rear of the trunk. This type of thing had happened long ago, even to his own group, and stories of such occurrences had been told around campfires often and dreamt about innumerable times. But this time it was happening to him: Elias had actually found a forgotten cache! He turned to go deliver the incredible news, but the movement prompted an event which was infrequent in his life: he caught a glint. In this world of dun earth and gray skies, where shimmers were rare enough (unless one included the rainbow co...

For all the ones we loved so dear, For them we should never shead a tear. They are in the presence of our God's loving grace, Never to be harmed again by this human race. If you could put a face on all those who have died, Do you think you could have been a friend or even Tried? Would you help your fellow man in this time of need, Or would you walk by and watch them bleed? December 1st is world's AIDS day, Do you remember what you did or did you have a prayer to say?

I woke last night Tense as a tightrope Shoulders crushing me Neck pushing up into my jaw Molars chattering I tugged myself from bed And into the bathroom. Breath. Breath again. Now another. I bent down To drink water From the bathroom sink And looked up into the mirror Two wet eyes gazed back. Two wet, wet eyes. No nightmare had I awoken from None that I recalled But those two huge, wet eyes Looked as if they had just been crying.

     I remember the day I found GOD when I had fallen backward into yesterday. She dusted me off and placed my feet on solid ground. She then told me that I needed to unshackle those chains of fictional guilt and worry. I couldn't figure out for the life of me what GOD was but she placed a pencil down at a table in the present and told me to “Sit down and write.” And so I began. The pen changed into a key and it so happened to be the right-sized key to unlock the chains I carried. When I looked up to see where GOD was, she had left me in the present, alone. So, I thought. Then, I looked down to the notepad I was writing on and I was surprised that I had no idea I had written the word “future” on it. It was clear that the only way I could find GOD again was to keep writing with the pen she gave me.

I can hear that music playing again  The bass pumped so loud It vibrates my bathroom But no one else hears it I get it, I do. Falling asleep drunk With a boombox in your head That's what it feels like. You get used to it That beat rocking every night It could be a club in your bath tub If only you had neon lights But then again You don't hear it Anymore You don't feel it Anymore The beat moves without you From now on, Since you're an adult And the tragic nights Pass onward.

An awaited bus never boils On the burner of a sunny roadside. Countless cars bubble up in the distance. And as a small bubble, each holds the promise Of being my plush, awaited bus. But as each vehicle draws nearer A frown settles on my lips For none of them turn into buses. The thoughtless vans and trucks Sizzle right past me. Like a warm, wicked wind Blowing sand through the desert. Little faces fly by me Laughing with the cool air Comfortably enclosed in those Horribly reflective Sizzling hunks of metal. Yes, while the others hurdle forward Towards their carpeted offices And lazy strolls down grocery aisles, I am the piece of unfortunate roadkill. The crispy turtle flattened against the pavement. The paper-thin frog, light-weight, dehydrated. Neither I nor the frog nor the turtle Will ever reach anywhere it seems. For my plush, awaited bus, Like the frog's cool, awaited puddle Never arrives. That wistful and far away bus. Gone. Lost. Sacrificed. Missed, for that one remaining si...

the best part is knowing when im looking perfect,   with a great outfit and great make up,   and feeling on top of the world,   invincible in my beauty and personality and who i am. the worst part is knowing that underneath the clothes,   is not what everyone sees with clothes,   the worst part is every night,   when i strip down before my shower,   and looking in the mirror,   and wondering where did i go? where is the me i just saw just a few minutes ago,   the real me,   with out my makeup and clothes,   my reflection is lie,   the person in the mirror has my face,   but not my body,   the worst part is bathing that body,   that in the back of mind,   i know is me,   but the feeling that im washing someone else,   makes me wanna cry... the best part is in the morning,   when i hop out of the shower,   and wrap that towel around my head and my body at the chest,   and look in the m...

You think you can just have me the way you need me but you don’t see me, you compartmentalize me you strip me with your indifference you make love to me with your inability to say you want me your feet walk away from me every time I wear jeans with no panties my power is wrapped up in you and I want that shit back your neglect has stained my soul with black flecks of insecurity don’t show me off to the world only to introduce me by my first name I am more than that my sex is more than your hesitance to kiss me you strip me with your indifference you lie to me with every date that ends in a perfunctory hug I want more I want you to want to want me I am enough my lov-, like for you is enough our bodies moving together in the same car traveling down the same lonely highway Is enough for us to start but your constant state of stationary is pissing off my attraction wearing down my horny obsession for you...

I made a concoction once of lemon juice & milk & salt. Drank it down in attempt to lose my timidity. The ingrediants had no reasoning           no known innate powers. Their mixture was unthought-out,           unread-up-on. It was a silly plan of escape,            a silly hope,            a silly liquid potion to dissolve the thick shell around me. I tried to speak louder the next day,   tried deliberating my movements a little less   tried to end the muteness I was known for. It seemed that lemon juice & milk & salt                    made no difference. But strangely enough they did. One day, just six years later,  ...

You know when I was way up there, learning about public transportation and wearing multiple colorful cardigans in the May rain while my eyes were just saturated with all the water and air, I thought about home but I did not miss home. I knew that once I got on that airplane I would emerge baptized, and I knew that once I returned home I knew something happened to me. It would take a few months being home again until I started to forgive Louisiana for sinking me right back on in. I thought the sky was clear but the locals disagreed. I saw clouds that turned into snow capped giants, simply existing and moving very slowly, you can see them on top of the hill and down by the water. I felt a shiver down to my toes when I knew that I’d one day I’d be up there, feeding the fish and keeping to myself, sleeping in my Ford Explorer in proper mountains for the first time. When I was younger those mountains were just so much farther, my vision was hazy and darker, I was in a free fal...

     Once there was a caterpillar walking out on a limb, and a moth flew by and landed on a leaf next to the caterpillar who was getting more and more nervous walking out on the limb for fear it would break.  The moth said, "Look at you, all ugly and plump, walking and being afraid with every step, where as I can fly and be free."  The caterpillar said, "Of course, you aren't afraid to take risks, because you can't fall, as I on the other hand, will do what my body tells me too, and my body and mind say for me to take a chance on this limb to break, it's what I have and need to do." The moth said, "You will never be like me."  The caterpillar said, "Thank god, now if you excuse me, I have some work on myself to do," and it began making a cocoon.      Time goes by and the moth flies by the cocoon and says, "Hello caterpillar, I see you are just hanging by a thread, and you will soon fall, and I can fly away laughing."...

So often I've the urge to drop my belongings and race Fall up the stairs Gasping for breath To the cold crisp air of a red-brick rooftop Just as the sun is sinking And the sky is a melancholic array of colors I will face the world from up above With a crazed look in my face Hands rising shakily from my sides The breeze will slowly build momentum My eyes will squint and water up Peer out over the all they've ever known And just as it all reaches that epic climax That pinnacle of the mountaintop Simultaneous crack of thunder and lightning Just then my hands will open up And release my insecurities Into the hard-blowing wind In one sharp needle of time they'll be gone Removed from my unwanting possession And blown so far they've no chance of retaking root in my soil

Descartes once said that “I think therefore I am” but whenever the clanging of the morning bells dull and diminish the thoughts in my mind whenever i can’t even hear myself over the crashing sirens of oncoming boats outside voices right in my ear a polluting fog blinding my path As i leave my words behind am i still the person i thought to be am I? ii Too many thoughts and not enough paper words reverberate harder, harder against my skull an escape, a dignified retreat to a place where I can breathe And what if I cut down every forest this Earth has ever born And leave it barren scavenging to save the spared to write down so many thoughts, so many dreams a scribe’s eternal duty by all means Would that justify the salvation of my sanity or am I being dragged to the bottom by more than just gravity

     When he asked me why I couldn't answer him, after he asked me why I had pushed that boy in school for calling me a name that I wouldn't repeat to anyone and he had waited with that stare that bragged that he knew exactly why and this was just some sort of exercise he was performing at best or just a mean trick at worst, I started to cry. Just turned red in the face and felt that horrible stretching tug in the middle parts of the cheeks while my other features all collapsed on themselves in some evacuation drill we must have learned as babies. And I screamed at him to stop looking at me like that, which he just took as another chance to prod. "Like What?" And me, ah the humiliation, "I don't know. Like an experiment. Like a lab rat." And his cold response colder, "Stop talking in cliches, child. You're better than that." And me, getting worse, "Stop it! Just stop. Just stop. Just. Just stop looking then." But not even as artic...

As I left her house and cleared my thoughts driving aimlessly, breathing in the cool night air I thought to myself how many times we do these things how many times we tell our parents we’re going to do the very thing we promised to when we have no intention of doing so we hang up, telling them we’ll be careful we’ll be safe we’ll be good kids we won’t do anything bad and then we take another hit down another shot light another cigarette and unwrap another condom Are We Really Bad Kids? I have to ask countless times, my mother would tell me “Fait Pas Des Bêtises” and I would nod all knowing that I would do the exact opposite I don’t want to hurt my mother I don’t want to ruin trust she has invested in me that would be too much for any child to bear no matter how much you say you hate your parents sometimes living a life doing exactly what you are told exactly what is expected of you can leave you being the person somebody else wanted you to be We are all bad with a touch of light We are...