Past Poem by Joshua cole

My past clings to me
like ten perfect punctures in my skin
let them pull down and open me
for all to see

blood seeps like lost memory
so now i am open, question?
which one?

Do I love, do i hate
do i feel at all?
father ask me

childhood lockeroom, lost shoe
scared to go home,
your imprint is on my soul

so what do you want now
retort from my simple voice?
do i love you?

teach it to me then maybe,
all i feel towards you is hate

do i love my son?
yes yes he is me and i am him
never choose over blood!