Stand tall, but not too proud.
Speak up, but not too loud.
Don't be afraid to be yourself,
but only when allowed.
Try not to inconvenience
and stay out of the way,
but when it's deemed appropriate,
say what you have to say.

Our eyes met, hearts knew.      Signals flashed like code
bound with beautiful,      arresting silence.

On cracked pavement
I walk,
slow and
cautious,
fearful
of falling,

of having to
pick myself up
again.

There's so much I feel but never actually say,
it paints an image too real, one I don't wish to give away.
Now it's raining, there's no sustaining,
I'm cold and soaking wet,
and all's waning, the thread's straining,
you know how worn-in sweaters get.

My father and my uncle
grew up on the streets
of Chicago, tough streets
for kids to roam.

Uncle Sal was a lanky guy,
with a Pork Pie hat and an
attitude, he took no ****,
but had a heart that was pure.

At nineteen Uncle Sal
died in Korea before he
lived for real. I still have the
Bronze Star they gave him.
A **** poor exchange for
a life unlived.

I never got to know Uncle Sal,
but I sure wish I had, maybe
even just a little bit.