freedom’s just a little bit higher now above countertops
& just beyond kitchen sinks - I am (r)evolution:                                    
everyday a transformation                                    
another quick decision to choose to be or maybe be..

or not be at all..

we all have a choice & a voice that can carry us so far past
the paths that have long been carved in familiar grounds                          
stones line up these earth veins in a way

that we’ll never forget                                                
how we even got here in the first place

(..but I don’t remember that part very well right now..)

my shadow is a sphere it’s right here & I know you can see it too three screams to be heard:

                                   my head to my voice                                    
                       ­            my voice to yours                                    
                                   & yours right back to mine again..

let’s forget the highways just for a second            
& remember that so long ago, we didn’t have            

to follow any carved paths..

eyes are bursting
(insert adjective here) feeling has found me again          
this time I was careful to hide far enough away                    beyond fields                    beyond highways                    beyond everything I once was

..but it found me anyway
deep footprints in snow that hasn’t even arrived yet          
streetcorner calls my name (straight up after Tunney’s)          
bright lights of a (not even on a) corner store          

I remember staring so long, sitting in that cold apartment

6am sitting on that cold kitchen floor by the heater
because that was the only place that was warm

& writing poetries until I knew I was done
those moments are buried so deep - (or at least I thought they were..)
six feet of memories pushing metaphorical nails out of their coffins

my mind has to intervene & immerse questions,
coax them to retrace fumbling steps
bribing my own brain w/ promises
best kept under                                     locks & keys..

history repeats itself.
thoughts are now
i    n    t     e   r    m    i   t     t       e    n       l      y

spreading across the same landscaped highways
found further down seamless, low-tide midday avenues

a crushing sound of reality realizing real eyes
will always reach for                
a higher piece of earth to climb                
for our collective peace of mind

you give & get        
remember & forget        
& remember & forget        
& remember & forget

I’ve walked under so many streetlights      
from home to the faraway cities trying to      
escape life of a smalltown
m    e     n     t     a     l      i      t     y
fighting so hard            
against conformity I still get      
stares walking                  
around

I’ve walked under so much starlight      
it’s not as bright when living that big city life, instead you have                  
to hang on by a thread from your
m    e     m    o     r     i      e     s
of what it looks like                        
that navy canvas staring right back at you -

a familiar journey of a million eyes..

Am I the only person you’ve ever seen w/ dreads? Are you so stuck in your hometown preconceived notions that I just can’t wash my own head? Let me just clear this up for you right now.. I don’t like reggae..
I didn’t catch your stares down the first freezer aisle at the grocery store last week but I heard that there was some nodding, some pointing & some laughing.. Thanks.. you’ve just given me another reason to not want to be like you..
Open your mind, open your mouth, I’ll answer anything you want to know..regardless of how many times I’ve already been asked before… I’d rather educate than segregate your thoughts even more.. but if you choose to keep your mind closed, make sure your mouth follows closely behind..

you see, life is a puzzle, and I’ve always felt like the missing piece… I remember being seventeen and refusing to dream.. I remember lonely nights in basement bedrooms, blue walls echoed what was in my heart at the time… I remember the ultimate Zen disaster, I was then my own master of a melancholic destiny, my weapon of choice, silver sharpness, five times (at least..) & before sleep, hand on stomach, stomach in head, head somewhere so far away..

fast forward:

one of my best friends asked me the other day, “what’s your definition of beauty?” It took me ten whole minutes to come up with the world’s most generic answer.. a decade ago, I blamed society for bending my brain into thinking I was too plain and why can’t I be like all the skinny girls you see on the screen?!  A decade later, I know it’s just me.. it’s my thoughts, sometimes rotting, corroding my soul (they say..) and if I can’t see the beauty in myself, how come I can see it in everyone, and everything else..?! I just programmed my mind to see things that way..

things are slowly changing, I’m re-arranging all the wires, re-booting my hard driven mind..
I owe it to myself to have a tomorrow free of sorrow because life IS a fast lane & won’t wait for me to catch up to that last departing train toward freedom.. I have to get there on my own, leave my home & choose the best path (it’s always the one less travelled though..)

so you might ask why I’ve written this…

I wrote this for you, summer niece or nephew… please know way in advance that beauty is not a reflection in a tv screen, but in your own bathroom, or bedroom mirror… it’s you and you alone.. Bukowski was right.. “your life is your life, know it while you got it..”

I wrote this for you, my little sister… to repay you for never leaving my side when I fell head first into poverty, property has no measure in your heart… never lose your spark..

I wrote this for you mom & dad..  through the highways & the hallways that changed over the years.. during those couple of trips to the medicine cabinet.. I knew I could never leave you guys behind no matter what clouded my mind..

I wrote this for my bestfriends that I have who shine…for Jeremiah, Bee, Sarah, Tonya, and Pam they’re the ones, according to Kerouac “who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..”

warmth in mind silent previous lifetimes
& age is memory, a secondary
view for everything..

grocery store stares today (possibly again?)
these stars are just too far away -
      & eyesight sighs shining beside an old vein..

another door opens, speed kings
gliding down streets much too narrow

(this is home..)

windowsill views: this smile has gotten
      the best of me..
peculiarities particularly interest me
during these (almost) spring days
           because I know I’m free

hometown nights not so silent anymore
streetcorner w/ a reputation:
        but it’s always the people I see..