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Brian A Sargent
Poems
Oct 1
Short Bus Long Journey
What's the difference?
If any then there's plenty
Of many tears shared
Wear none of the brand labor
All my **** was hand me down
Thundercats drawers brawling in the halls
Four in the afternoon call for a ride home
Having poured from my cup a better potion
Love is a mixture of pain
Fed through a line in my vain
Of in these waken hours
Haveing to make believe in a convenient lie told
It's the old routine of long rides on short bus
Pride is usually just some cheap trinket pull out of pockets and shown
Once had a colorful backpack that had a blue dinosaurs on it with sunglasses
There was no running in the hall
A converted stager closet was my homeroom
The Image stuck in my head of bottles label with crossbones in the corner
The owners of what will become my inherit hurt
It not worth much these days
Said an old Jewish man at the pawn shop
He told me of the fights he once had in his front lawn as a boy
And sold me a toy gun
I talk funny and was thought of as queer
Left here cause I wasn't right
Led to believe that my existing was the product of American greatness
Said that if this was China I would be abraded at the age of twelve
If ever you could be love without never wanting to know pain
They mainstream you
Pick you first for their team
You ask a girl out on a whim
Her words wasn't meant to be kind
You hide behind head nods
Finding excuses not to read out loud
Used the one where there's something in your eye
And in the boys stall you stood till they call upon who ever next
Backwards written text
You're package as special
Lucky if you meet minimum wage of the age eighty
Taught by teachers that we was the product of crack fiends parents
Why even bother with college?
The fatherless ******* of slaves owners
A truth known to whites and blacks alike
Those of who you claim lack your intellect
Tell of none of my hurt
A lone inhabitant of a bitter earth
I bit of it sour fruit
Pour a cup of tea
That was neither hot or cold
I hold it to my lips
It not warmth or comfort I seek
But rather an uninvited truth
All that's known are the inherit lies of a puppet frog
For I am not the owner of sorrow but rather the borrower
Waiting for tomorrow as it only a day away
Who might I be then
A me that's slow but yet still flow from a stream out into a river
For I am the son who's the giver of his mother love
None of your words will be the sum of my faults
The vault that seal such memories that pain
And the healing words of a cartoon turtle
No matter how slow I travel I near ever closer in my journey
#pride
#education
#bullying
Written by
Brian A Sargent
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