probly a few minutes
and i was done
writing wasn't feeling the same
i stood on top like
bricks around disaster
i was looking up
i took my shoes off
threw them aside still laced
i wasn't being funny
i know where this is going
where i write
where i see cracks in perfect paths
where blood taste like metals of purity
with every year burning
where these flowers like to live
die on vines from inside
allowing ivy to climb my back
i am a length of fence
in a yard with no dog
on a gate without reason
sitting on a post during live events
i am a fool for giving into seasons
romancing everything like a poet
following every inch of broken glass
nodding to my friends that i'm willing to mend
but waiting for them to laugh
outlined with chalk on the sidewalk
where blood stains concrete my convictions
flowing from the curb to the overpass
in the night like candles floating water
under tree branches ready to crack
formatting clouds to sky write, come with me
a man in the park on his back
a note
1/6/2024
this poem took on a life of it's own.
a friend of mine heard a lady in Berkeley
reading this as her own. it was hash tagged, and all over the internet. it gained attention.
even to this day, someone has this up as their own on a long ago since vacant Facebook page.
it's funny where poems end up.
it wasn't my favorite. but the feelings of this day are true. lost and dreaming at Wright Park, Tacoma Washington. ♥