hope runs its fingers through knotted hair
and exhumes hearts that were laid to rest

a gravely thought surfaced in the head of
the ones who once did pirouettes
with their words, risked reality for the sake of dreaming,
everything's normal you just can't get hurt

hope runs its fingers through our lucky days
and assures us in time another will come
out of the bushes straight our way

it's the caboose, the last fall, the remainder of it all
it nests in hiding, look up
higher than you think possible
its dust has marked park benches
you wont see it until you put on glasses
you wont see it until you move one step forward

some days it doesn't come out to play
but it isn't a game, it's the key to
a door that has been locked for ages

look, I have closets full of combinations
that were destroyed under the flames of
pure misfortune,

I really do believe that through this quest, we will find that individual key

Once we do,
we come to life

you're always welcomed

no, I'm not looking for recognition on this road without an end. Lights flash behind my rear view sight, my stomach drops into my gut and I'm afraid. It slowly passes by and the relief drops me into an ocean 3,000 miles deep,

I have these dreams of different memories
sidewalks without ends and a
cranberry taste lingering within
reality doesn't exist because this
isn't real to me
-

justice isn't a word- a fragment broken off our people, the ones we are supposed to trust like storybooks read as we daze off
freedom isn't a word- it's a memory of something that didn't happen
a cold honest truth
of a wish no genie has found the power to grant

if there is such things tell me; where do I find waterparks of pride, or a place called freedom other than that gas station on left maple drive

is this not what we all want?
being mixed in this cycle, having our parents not sign that permission slip;
not have the knowledge of the feigned confidence they led would someday catch them

I want to write something more peaceful, leave out the abrupt stops and room for letters to roam free. Nearly every word so close they can almost touch but that wouldn't look right. I want you to not feel dragged along a bumpy road that jolts you every which way and it's not even fun. My worst nightmare would be to make you feel your watching a fuzzy black and white tv screen and feel the helplessness that I feel when writing this.

I know I can worry about EVERYTHING
so why worry?

why give fuel to the blinded fear that strangles every last thought, vanquishes any positive energy

human energy is a form of electricity
translates everyday happenings into something digestible

once the power goes out, replace it with a better version. It may take time, but everyone procrastinates as much as they lie

conserve energy by knowing when to stand still
when to fight would only enrage the hurting

say your piece, and let them say their's

we can all go home tonight

nobody is disabled
or perfectly able

sickened talk of lowering someone's worth due to the undying fact that you want to feel like the lucky one
Maybe it's not luck, maybe we are plagued with layers of dealing with hurt and our mind makes up different images. makes them look like a doe, that in a slim chance you can rise above and beyond

If you ask someone with a "so-called disability"
they say they wouldn't change a thing
they love who they are and who they are would never look like anyone else

they smile and have learned to appreciate every fine detail of the life they live

Wait till I build myself a home
With no walls, chairs, or a kitchen
...But for my love
A place I can store my love

it's a stretch of imagination
to believe anyone,
in their right mind,
could want to unlock the doors
take off the sheets underneath
slip in through the back door
surprise you in your sleep
make up excuses
tell you the truth
mean what they say

I don't want to wait
I'm not patient enough for this