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Lights under the train station, find your way home tonight. Sometimes sundown and sunrise doesn’t make things right.
I stop to tie my shoe, and hear a man with a gray sweatshirt, hood up, yell like the traffic and the city lights are gonna drown him out.
“You got change?” It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.
“You got change, sweetheart?” He asks me for coins, crumbs from the table of dollar bills. I reach for my wallet and hand him a green single. He looks at it like I rained cash on the desert.
Yeah, I got change. I got it electrocuting out of my fingertips. I got it locked up in my mind with all the would-have-been’s beckoning to be set free.
I got change under my bed with the shoes I put on in the morning, shoes I tie even on days I feel like numbing everything with sleep.
I got change in every stutter, every repetition of my too-quiet voice,
These veins are swollen with change. These brains are wishing for us to stop acting like everybody on the sidewalk with nowhere to be is just part of the concrete.
“Have a good day,” says the man, already turning away. He doesn’t say you’re welcome, but I know I am. I’m a part of these streets, no questions in city or from the ***** trucks, no comments from the puddle flooded subway stairs.
“Have a good day,” he said, but it’s night, and I find myself waiting for the train during the grace period between the 5:35 and the 6:02.
Change is in the people-watching, the night owls, the ones working long days to feed families, the ones waking long nights to feed their psyches.
Yeah, I got change, it’s right in front of me.
A kid in a black sweatshirt, hood up, kicks a penny around the train platform, a sliver of dollars that aren’t worth anything until you need them to be.
I wonder if time is his greatest asset. I think it’s resilience that brings him home.
Lights under the train station, find your way home tonight. Sometimes sundown and sunrise doesn’t make things right.
Two trains line the platform, one inbound, one outbound, a screeching symphony of commuter rail and commuter. They won’t cross again tomorrow. I hop on the jam packed purple line and wonder what we could do if more people knew they got change.
Change is in the sky. It’s gonna rain coins into all our pockets and I’ll be catching droplets.
Lights under the train station, find your way home tonight. Sometimes sundown and sunrise doesn’t make things right.
This place is rundown and the train’s packed tight
But we all got change and we’re gonna be alright.

A poem is a feeling
Made up of words and lines.
Sometimes it has a rhythm;
Sometimes it (almost) rhymes.

A poem is a song
With an inaudible tune;
The notes are there, the movement, too,
But they are up to you.

A poem is a tale untold,
And one we'll never know,
If you don't let your words unfold
And let your brilliance show.

Love , trust , herself , blindly will she give you

Hunger , sleep , others ,yourself , will she protect you

Hapinness , peace , security , are her powers

Regret , sorrow , tears , you feel for her

Uncernaity , fear , pain , father gifts you

Death , lonliness , craziness , shall craves you

Dissapointment , wrath , self-loathing , will this World Make you

Paradis , réincarnation , inner peace , will god promise you

The End , Reality , Dreams , will seem shallow compared to a single person

Words , feelings , gifts , will never do justice to her

Joke, humor, laugh, IS this whole POEME until my death

Try to be a better daughter for her , and always wish her to be your mother

Man
Invents Art.

Man
Learns
To appreciate Art.

Man
Realizes
Whole world,
Whole universe,
Is Art.

Man
Invents God.

Man learns
To appreciate God.

Man
Realizes,
Whole world,
Whole universe,
Is God,
Is Art.

Man
Invents religion.

Man
Learns to fear God.

Man
Forgets,
Whole world,
Whole universe,
Is God,
Is Art.

Man
Invents sin.

Man
Learns
Art is sin.

Man forgets,
Whole world,
Whole universe,
Is Art,
Is God.

Man
Invents hate.

Man
Learns
To hate other man.
Other man different,
Other man never learn fear,
Other man still Artist.
Other man never learn,
Art is sin.

Man
Forgets,
All men,
All people,
Are Art,
Are God.

Man
Invents law.

Man
Learns
To use law
As a weapon
Against other man.

Other man
Realizes,
Man
forgot,
All men,
All people,
Are Art,
Are God.

Other man
Invents teaching.

Other man
Teaches man,
"Remember,
All men,
All people,
Whole world,
Whole universe,
Is Art,
Is God.

Other man
Realizes,
Man too blind,
Too afraid,
To see truth;
Whole world,
Whole universe,
Is Art,
Is God.

Man
Invents war.
Kills other man.

Man
Refuses to learn,
Whole world,
Whole universe,
Is Art,
Is God.

Man
Forgets,
Man
And Other man
Are same.
Both are Art.
Both are God.

Man
Invents propaganda.

Man
Teaches man
"Other man different.
Other man bad.
Other man sin.
Be afraid,
Be very afraid."

Man
Kills other man.

Man
Invents self-delusion.

Man
Learns
To believe what man was taught;
Other man scary,
Other man hates man,
Hates God.

Man
Never realizes
Other man,
All men,
Whole world,
Whole universe,
Is God,
Is Art.

Man
Never realizes,
He is other man,
Other man is him.

Are you happy?
someone asked me
of late at just
the right
moment

I hesitated
What exactly is
happiness?
Not wealth
or fame

It is not
to be found
in dopamine
or dancing
through life

Not
godliness
ascetiscism
or contentment
But it surely feels like

an approximation of a
certain moment of bliss
that even now
I cannot fully
apprehend

AH 2018

Write with emotion and don't let anyone silence your heart.
Write about the way her smile
makes your insides feel warm
and how your arms feel empty
without her curled up in them.
Describe how the sound of his voice
makes your ears feel like
a fuzzy blanket was stuffed inside them
with a cat purring, sleeping soundly upon it.
Explain to your readers why you hate yourself
despite the desperate need for others to love you.
Write down the questions
that you don't actually want the answers to
although the questions look pretty on paper.
Let questions lead to more questions
and your feelings lead to more feelings.
Tell a story about how lost you've been
or tell the world about your journey
to where you are now.
Write away your past, let it decide your future,
break boundaries and don't give up.
Teach yourself to believe that what you have to say
is just as important as what anyone else does.

Sometimes,
you find an empty stairwell.
Seldom used, not that clean.
But a gentle kind of quiet fills it,
the kind with chatter in the distance
and the smell of coffee from a nearby cafe.

You pause on the landing
between two flights.
A place between places,
a nowhere floor.
It's not a destination,
it's nowhere anyone's going.

Take a deep breath,
have a moment alone,
a moment of peace,
in this nowhere place.

The garden out back needs mowing, but autumn bees
Good bees at work and play don’t see it that way
And spin about in the October breeze
Wind-spinning in the sun their bee ballet

The freshening winds have motivated them
To gather up and gather in the last
The last of summer goods from limb and stem -
Their easy harvests of spring have long since passed

They work, they know the winter winds will blow -
So I must find a different lawn to mow