*******.

The end.

Don't you
Put your hands on me
Don't you
Push me down like that
Don't you build me up
To knock me down
Don't leave bruises
On my mind
On my skin
On everything I am
Don't tell me about
How good I am
When I'm not good enough
To be anything
But your *****

My heart
Is beating so fast
Thinking you
Might like me
But I'm just getting my hopes up
Please don't turn out like the last guy
I don't want what people think I am
I'm sick
Of being slammed down
Only to be picked back up
By your beautifully written
*Empty
Words

WHAT does the hangman think about
When he goes home at night from work?
When he sits down with his wife and
Children for a cup of coffee and a
Plate of ham and eggs, do they ask
Him if it was a good day's work
And everything went well or do they
Stay off some topics and talk about
The weather, base ball, politics
And the comic strips in the papers
And the movies? Do they look at his
Hands when he reaches for the coffee
Or the ham and eggs? If the little
Ones say, Daddy, play horse, here's
A rope-does he answer like a joke:
I seen enough rope for today?
Or does his face light up like a
Bonfire of joy and does he say:
It's a good and dandy world we live
In. And if a white face moon looks
In through a window where a baby girl
Sleeps and the moon gleams mix with
Baby ears and baby hair-the hangman-
How does he act then? It must be easy
For him. Anything is easy for a hangman,
I guess.

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,

Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,

Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We

Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking

Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!

We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,

Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot's in the door.

I just want to inspire,
I remember coming here last year,
And **** did I admire,
The kids who got up,
And had the guts to speak,
Because I thought my voice was weak,
I just needed to find my time,
And it's so cliché but my time is now
And I'm going to own it
It's just like Carter said on the first day
"We're a little bit of this and a little bit of that"
Well I'm a little bit brave
And a little bit scared
But I am one hundred percent trying to reach you
Scream out if you are afraid
You will never know what you are made of
Till you at least try
There a unspoken afraid poets
Dreamers
Believers
Go getters
Waiting for a sign
Look no further
Your sign is right here, right now
I don't want to just reach the afraid
I want to praise the brave
The Spoken brave poets
The never silent
The achieving
The do-ers
My goal is to inspire
Because **** I want to admire
your spoken words
your written words
Your words Just Waiting to be written
You poets
Will be poets
It your time,
so stop waiting,
Own it