Poetry

i'm looking through the boxes shoved in the corner of the attic

and i come across an old one marked random,

doesn't look like anyone's been through it,

but I start...

and i find that photograph;

a community of fools

given the power to combine words

and a pen

that can write so much meaning

in just two, or three, or millions of words,

and sometimes, there aren't enough

Ode to those that make life into gold 

that bring us some sparkle as we grow old 

Ode to the places, friends, and small things 

to which credit's unequal to the joy that they bring 

At first... 

You stayed quiet... 

In your own cocoon of safety, scared that you might get hurt... 

But over time... 

You grew... 

You started to open up... 

It's a long, thin and twisted, smooth rope,

One I could wrap around the skin on my wrists,

And keep myself tied to one place.

Because when I'm with you, I'm free,

Chasing the world without a finish line

You're chasing after me again,

Like I'm a shooting star and I can hear your footsteps 

before I see your face pasted

with grins and smiles, I don't understand.

Fall is here and I fight nostalgia with every step

I am falling into the colored leaves like a child with crayons filled them in

The slightest cool breeze knocks me over

I love this time of year

Suppress women

Suppress people of color  

Suppress the vote

Lie about it 

Lie on TV

Lie to yourself 

Lose 

lie about that too

bite your tongue and swallow 

count to ten, divisible by 2 on a good day and 5 on a bad day

9 chews too loud

8 rubs on each finger, 8 thumb to thumb and then every other finger. always an even number

I don't want to 

I shouldn't need to 

I don't have to

I really shouldn't.

Numbers upon numbers upon numbers that insist

upon eachother. Adding up quickly and carrying mental 

fresh out of the plane,

weary eyed and sickly pale, 

I trudge.

deep within my suitcase, I carry a passport I don't want to show to anyone, 

even if they ask for ID. 

people sleep 

in beds

in graves 

laid down by death's sweet glave 

and when the songbird spreads its wings 

some will wake when morning sings 

but others still will slumber on