if I went backwards,
you'd find me underneath
those dim city streetlights
laughing with the other
kids on my block.
you'd find me at
the first funeral
and then the
second and third
staring ahead with
blank eyes and a
tear-stained face,
brown dirt on
my black shoes
and you'd never again
find me laughing at
the end of my block.
you'd find me
running, running,
always running
from the cops
from rival gangs
from foster homes
from mean kids
from my responsibilities
and my guilt and the truth
and eventually from my past
and I wouldn't slow down
until I collapsed.
you'd find me on a
pool table in a basement
with my first boyfriend
on top of me.
he whispered that
he loved me,
but the bruises
said otherwise.
I listened to his voice
and ignored his actions.
again, you'd find me
running, running,
always running
from my ex and his abuse
from my self-hatred
from my confusion
from more cops
and I wouldn't slow down
until I collapsed.
if I went backwards,
I would be running.
I'm still running.
if I go forward,
will I stop?
will I always
be running?
