When the Bulls Lose

some miserable fucks

dress up their misery—

they teach it language.

it mouths along to sad songs

& dresses in all black. 

silly men mistake misery

for a real life being

when it’s a cheap party trick—

i’m not judging tho. 

my misery is an ugly animal too. 

call it fandom or nostalgia. 

all i know is when The Bulls lose

my misery makes me kneel or play dead—

it’s me on my knees begging for a treat. 

 

 

Jimmy Butler was Right

maybe there are some truths

we can’t hear

from certain mouths.

some truths we don’t need

to hear at all. 

Jimmy Butler was right

to tell the Wolves they were sorry

without him. it doesn’t make him

less wrong. when i was nursing 

a heartbreak, one of my homies

made me repeat after him:

“my life is already bountiful with love.

all i have to do is accept it.“

those words fell out of my mouth 

like stones on a pond. just cuz you strum

some guitar strings, it doesn’t make it a song. 

Jimmy was wrong to call the Wolves chumps. 

even though he was correct about the facts.  

i’m saying the truth is overrated. i gave in

to my homie. i recited his affirmation. 

in the deepest lakes of my heart, perhaps 

those words resonated. oh lonely ripples. 

i mouthed along. but what good 

was all my bountiful love. all my acceptance. 

i couldn’t cuddle my bountiful nothingness. 

couldn’t nuzzle the soft neck of nothing. 

i strummed along to my homie’s affirmations. 

i strummed until the guitar strings snapped

& that felt truer than all the lovely truths i couldn’t hold.