I rush to speak
When I should be quicker
To pause and think,
Parsing each phrase.
How my words will and could
Be interpreted or construed
And of that, whatever resulting.
Of the checks & balances
We put ourselves through,
What is the material from which
The weights of judgement
Have been constructed?
Pig iron, sterling silver, stainless steel?
And of our choice of counterweights,
What is revealed?

deep in the blood
rivers of life flow
to a heartbeat

I feel like I can’t truly call myself a poet
If I haven’t used the word “petrichor”
In a poem before
So here it is
My official entry
Into the poetry “industry”

It’s hard to be a grownup
With adult sensibilities
Thinking over the stupid crap
I did when I was a kiddie
There ain’t no going back
To when I was thirteen
And stopping myself from torturing
That poor girl I bullied
I can’t replace
The money
I stole from nana’s purse
When I was a teen
All I can do
Is not repeat
Those stupid mistakes
That may define me