They spoke jazz
the words trickled from their tongues
like magic
they weren't rich
or famous
or connected
but they were **** good people
tongues like metronomes
they spoke in flashes of music
music music
not just sounds layered
atop other sounds
but soul and heart and fire and passions,
aching sadness
heartbroken longing
and the taste of danger
and ***
they were broke
scratching and hustling
for nickels and dimes
and forty ounces of freedom,
if they save up long enough
they can score a nickel bag
but they never do
and they still somehow get their hands on the stuff
malt liquor hangovers
wake them in the morning
and they smoke loosies
given to them by the over-privileged college kids
and their nice clothes
and undeserved smiles
they are the rat pack
hearts beating to the sounds of saxophones
and in my book
they're alright

He is made up entirely of perfection
The boy who without any flaws, they called him.
With as much heart as soul, as much soul as mind, and as much mind as strength.
The way he carried himself was perfection.
Steady, step-by-step, looking neither down at his feet or up at the sky
Nor straight ahead
But perfectly in front of him with attentive eyes that didn't search the crowd.
He sat when he needed to, stood when he needed to,
And knelt down only to God.
Each word he used on paper or in voice was riddled with kindness and honesty, and deliberation
As if he had dedicated his whole life to finding that word, to use it in such a way
As to share it with you in that moment.
Truly he spent his time thinking about words and meanings,
So that each word he spoke and thought had meaning
Nobody knew that he was lonely, and the words were to him more than words
But a way to describe, but a code, but a message in a bottle
With limited time to speak and ears to hear,
Words chosen perfectly for each occasion to introduce himself
To perhaps his soul mate.
But he was made of perfection, whose soul-mate didn't exist
Whose soul-mate was too imperfect to tell him she heard him when he said
In his backwards code
That he was in love with the sky and the sun, the moon and the stars
And wanted nothing more than someone to walk with at night.

Sometimes I feel like a participation trophy.
Congrats, you did it.
Here's to commemorate your dedication
Now goodbye, go do something better with your time
Earn something you're not afraid to show off
That's worth more than this five cents of plastic
Unless, of course, you're not good at anything
In which case look, everyone, at my trophy.
I participated in something
That took more effort than eating food or breathing
I showed up sometimes
And did some stuff
And I got this trophy I can put on my top shelf
So everyone can see it's a trophy,
But no one knows I barely earned it.
Not that anyone cares anyway