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Feb 2016
These walls are paper thin.
I can hear faint arguments,
resemble politics.
Fathers a democrat, & mothers a republican.
Voices get lost in the distance of my mind.
I picked up a pen,
walked up to my father, cut open his stomach, & wrote obstinate on his liver. Then I walked towards my mother, slit open her chest,  & wrote sadness on her tacit heart.
I proceeded into my little sisters room, carefully removed her ears, & wrote Innocence across her tiny eye lids.
Midway distance between my room &
the front door to the outside world.
I got lost again, roaming in my head for the third time that day.
Found my way unto my bed.
I layed down to closed my eyes and woke up to a new day.
Yet the same sounds again.
Jo Baez
Written by
Jo Baez  Los Angeles, Ca.
(Los Angeles, Ca.)   
257
 
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