I should get up and write.
Write about our present,
And how unlikely is our future.
Write about the scars on her left wrist
Which you saw only because her bracelet slipped.
Write about how she never gave up,
And how you never gave up on asking;
Maybe I should get up and write
About the shackles in our stomachs,
The chains on their chairs,
The change that is so hard to anticipate
When your fainting eyes
Read news of homicide every night;
When your voice fades away in reason,
And not in volume;
You often find yourself talking loudly
Only to realize that the echoes of your sound
Is amplified by the emptiness of what you’re saying
So why speak?
So why speak, when you can’t get her to listen,
When her eyes shift between your glances
To look for someone she actually wants to hang around;
When her fingers do not point at your words,
But at her favorite photos
Which she goes over 10 million times a day.
So why speak?
When your vocal chords
Are replaced with rocks and stones,
So you throw your messages away
Hoping you get them straight to the heads
So why speak?
When words rattle cages
But tyrants
They live in mansions.
But we’re still alive aren’t we?
Our blood runs
Through the wired compartments of our brains,
Like rivers rushing with ideas,
And I fell for the oceans in her eyes.
Our heart still beats
Quicker at winter than it does at spring,
And I guess it gets chilly every time we meet.
Our bodies still believe in music,
We could still challenge the world
By spiraling against it,
By jumping upward
Downing motions of the rain,
By looking at the horizons
And still believe
There’s a lot more for us to see.