I feel like I should be crying.
But there wasn’t much
To cry about
In the first place.

The poetry
Claws at my rib cage
Like it’s a real cage.
Like it’s minimum wage
Come to pay up, pay a price.
It 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴 like blood
Or bone.
It blooms like a flower
Then crashes like stone.
It flows out of my lips
Like music’s own bile—
Life’s a trial by fire
But this is fire by trial.

We are
Different fingers
Of the very same hand.
We are
Born pure,
Then forgotten.
I am the flowers
And the river.
Mother Nature—
What can I give her?
She is all I cannot be.
She is all I once was.
The children of men
Have twisted her personage
Until her portrait no longer
Is recognizable.
The children of men
Have twisted themselves—
Trains, cars, factories!
Nothing but awful galleries
Of memories, a eulogy
For the truth, the natural way.
And yet, it all runs through us.
Like our blood, and the breeze
And the sunlight’s dappled stream,
Like a rope, but not a chain,
Sustenance, our meat and grain.
It is One, and we are It.
We are One, and separate.

Poetry
Is our humble attempt
To describe
The indescribable.

We are miraculous.
Ropes of corded muscle
Intertwined—
A system so efficient
We have spent centuries
Attempting to imitate it.

We are
Astounding.
Life is a miracle
No robot
Can replace.

It was yes or no,
Black and white,
But I’ve grown
Into seeing the gray.
I realized that there
Is a sky full of stars
In between the night
And the day.

I was screaming.
It was like
Smashing my fists
Into a brick wall
Hoping it breaks.
I was screaming.
And you just kept driving
Like it was nothing
Like you did this
Every day.
I was screaming
And looking
At the speedometer
To see if you
Were speeding,
If you let this
Affect you at all.
You weren’t
And you didn’t.

I was screaming
And you didn’t hear a word.