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there are some mornings
when I feel the weight of my hair
pulling my head down

when I can feel gravity
pulling down the subway when we cross the
bridge between Castle Frank and Broadview

there are some mornings
I don't think I can get out of bed
because the world is too real

the empty space between me
and my fingers is filled with blankets
and the meniscus of my eyelids
is curved up instead of away
 Feb 2014 Joaquin Cruzalegui
sometimes i wish i had people to talk to
about what goes on inside my head
but then i remember i’m overtly content
with living inside my own mind
without the need for interruptions
caused by other human beings,

because i’ve come to learn
through the experiences of others
that when you let people in
you are letting them drag you down
with the weight of their being
on top of your own
Two paths of blood direct my eyes, seeming worlds apart.
In what way must my life convert and must I force my heart?

Is it better of man to spread false wings
and bring himself to bear
a life that less than freedom brings
and scars upon his soul he'll wear?

Or is it better to drown in white
and stain with every color
a life that blinds itself in light
and a presence that grows smaller?

No path have I on which to set my right and solid course,
doubtless one still I will tread.  But be it with pride or with remorse?
I found this while perusing an external hard drive of mine. I stumbled upon a small cache of saved poems that I had written back in 2006 (that would put me in senior year of high school).
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