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Dear Mr. Postman,

I wonder what it's like when you see the bills.
Do you feel the urge to pay them?
Or when you see college letters,
do you feel anxious to know the decision?
When we get adverts,
do you judge us?
When you see the handwritten cards,
do you also feel the sense of home?

I know you have other homes to mail,
other cubbies to fill,
but if you looked a little closer,
maybe you'll see the life of our family unfolding before your very eyes.

I forget that they switch who gets Postman for the day.
There must be a secret meeting where everyone calls dibs on which street each person gets.
I hope that you always vote to fill our street, just so you could say hi to box again.
But I can only wish for such a thing.
I want your name to always be Damian,
but the truth is it changes from Mark to Steven,
from Dana to Christine,
and from Taylor to Lennon.

Goodbye Mr. Postman,
stop by the house one day.
I Broke English
I’m trying to get better at it,
I swear I am.
I’m trying to reach my full potential,
But right now I have a fool’s potential.
It’s the only abstract thing you can break
Besides love.
And that is—
English.
My parents have broken English.
But did they have to pay for it?
Is English a vase with a price tag?
I thought that was called China for a reason?
Was English a mishandled shipment
With the label “fragile” on it?
Is English a person whose feelings have been hurt?
I thought that’s why there are therapists for him or her?

Anyways, my mom once asked me,
“How come read and read look the same?
But read and red sound the same?”
And my dad asked,
“Why is it pronounced lie-in,
Instead of lie-on?”
I always hear the saying, “I put the emphasis on the wrong syllable,”
But really, who here determines such things?

I always hear the question “Can I use the bathroom?”
Only to be hit back with “I don’t know, can you?”
Well, guess what.
May I tell you a secret?
I don’t really care, I just need to use it.

Heck, we need math to solve English.
Do we derive the root from the word?
And finally get an origin?
This plays an integral part
In our English.

People use it around the world!
Instead of hearing Bonjour! Or Hola!
We get
Hey! Hello! What’s up!
Because French isn’t universal
We don’t get to hear
“Je ne parle pas en francais”
And same for Spanish
We don’t hear
“Yo no hablo espanol”
But instead, we hear around the world
“I don’t speak very good English”
I speak
Broken
English.

Much like my broken brain
I can’t piece it together
How this dang jigsaw puzzle
Works altogether.

It’s difficult to speak in these words
Without tripping up.
Trust me it was hard to memorize,
I swear, I was all caught up
In the moment of knowing these letters.
But I didn’t take into account
The meaning of grammar—
It’s a nail that’s hard to hammer
The meaning of pronunciation—
I don’t know, can you hear my enunciation
The meaning of punctuation—
Maybe I can put an exclamation?
Or make it a question!

I finally figured out what English is.
It’s a law that I’ve broken several times
But can get away with it
Because I was born with the proper accent and the language.
I performed this for my final project, senior year, in high school for the Slam Poetry assignment. It's an original, and it may not have the same effect as saying the words out loud, but I decided to publish it anyway.
Why go through all the Trouble
When there’s an Out?
It may be painful, no Doubt
But there is only double.
Yet this pain is no gain
With the decision that is made.
I have to wear a mask for every task
That is laid before me,
Leaving the hoard
Oblivious to the board
Of Deeds done to hide the Truth.
Goodbye, Love, I’ve finished the List.
O’er looking your life from above,
Not as high as the clouds,
Not as chaotic as the bounds,
But just as that dove.
Sometimes glances were exchanged,
As if I were there.
I’d touch your hair with my eyes’ range
Only to find your hand
Yearning to escape
My love of sand.
-And down it crumbles along the beach of fictitious bliss
Down it Goes
Down those petals go…
Just as the water flows
Into that Black Hole
Of Deceit, Nothingness,
And Sorrow.
A sibling asked, “Why?”
but the world can’t know,--
won’t know--
doesn’t need to know.
For all the burden to be carried
must not be tried
by those who peril along for life.

A girl asked, “Who?”
The beaten path cannot be changed,
Forever maimed by the unforgiving pain.
All That One knows is
That something
occurred.

But He said, “I know.”
Of all the oblivious existence
That surrounded That One,
One knew who had done the bearing
Of that something
That occurred.

No one asked, “What?”
What took place during the dark morn’?
What became of One?
What had He done?
The truth that spilled
Was the opposite of He:
“I don’t know, had a course been run?”

That One sprawled on the floor,
With the bareness left in horror
For the closed to see.
T’was a weight so heavy,
So wary,
So weary.
Everyone saw light
Because all had been blinded
By that daunting,
Aweing
Fright.

All One knows is that what still remains is the untainted,
And unfeigned,
uncertainty.
And if it could be anymore,
The forever knocking,
Roaring
Door
Left a wholly,
Holy
Scar

To be untouched and caused
By That Something that occurred
Which had ridden
To a fear so hidden,

But One’s fault became known as:
The Stumble Upon The Backpack Of Burden.
Right I am, the Birth of births.
Let them cry out: “It has sprung!”
To the point of no return,
some suffer.
Among them I am left hung.

***** things dreams can do,
Tantalize forever or creeping the minds.
Great things wishes can do,
Beasts are severed
And looting the finds.

Here the story sails,
With life to no avail.
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