Theres this chemical found
in the books you love
that makes the smell of turning the page
stimulating.
Reminding me of every word I've ever learned
that wont fit the smell of a number two pencil
with the language given.

I will try.

Because I was taught elementry things that I still dont understand
like how to give up.

What is taught isn't always blowing through your sense.
So lend me your ear and hear this.
Help me remember the miracle
of tragic wealth,
where  oppurtunity in the ventures of wallstreet
is worth more than everybody else
and somehow still
no child gets left behind.
Leaving only our parent's nuerosis that become our friends
inability to write poetry.
The form of a child is something to be ashamed of
and you better believe that the ink can't speak
because growing up
that lesson that did sink in
under your skin is how you've never been able to say what you mean.  

So run along lil duckling
traffic wont wait in this brisk pace
of a life you better learn.

We don't have time for nature.
A mother we grow to think we were born into
but out of?
Oh into,
the biggest lie to convince us
that such a thing as original exists
when the closest to original you'll get
is the collage of your human experience.
Turning school children into ducklings
reality into god
war into novels
spanish harlem into charity abroad
body language into a farewell to your fear
and journal studies into truth
but if I wanted to talk about the absolute
it's poetry I'd read to you.

Because when I saw god

I had to

touch
my
self.

To even come
close
every bead of sweat evidence of
the good work
the lessons learned
and all the things that I must burn.
To keep pace in this place
   climbing a catalogue
I
must
   escape.
So
when my time comes
I won't
be afraid
to
turn
the pa
ge.