we both like hugs and cats
we're pretty much the same person!
she makes my mornings so much easier,
this friend of mine.

last year,
i didn't know her very well.
(i didn't know anyone very well;
a new school district, if you will.)
but she's the loud to my quiet
the pretty to my clumsy
and the fight to my meekness,
this friend of mine.

this year,
we hold hands,
and hug,
and laugh,
and i'm very glad to have her,
this friend of mine.

Lost fur flies through the air
Off the backs of black cats
There innocents yowls echoing with sorrow and pain
The traumatized cats have been dumped into the streets

Why? Is there a reason? YES, It’s their fur.
After hundreds of years, people are still scared of the black cats.
For reasons of magic,
For reasons of evil,
For reasons I don't understand because they are normal.

It doesn’t matter the color of their fur
Cats should all be equal because they are good.
Cats shouldn’t be like humans
Who has their segregation?
They make colored people feel bad because of past descriptions.

I don't understand why people just can’t move on?
Why don't they see that all humans are equal?
No life matters more.
People should learn to see and understand that instead of making them fall to their knees and have tears dripping off the floor.

Humans can scream
Humans can yell.
They make signs and protest until the segregation stops.

But imagine how black cats feel.
They experience the same brutality but they can’t
DO ANYTHING
Because they are cats.

They can’t make signs, they can’t protest.
All they can do is endure the pain or avoid it.
They feel the same thing that the colored people feel.
They are hurt and abused by people who don't care about their life
Humans are cruel and should value the lives of black cats.

My cat has apparently
decided to turn my house into a graveyard for rodents.
They turn up everywhere -
my tub, my sink, my bed -
but they all look so similar
that it could very well be the same mouse,
finding its way back in
every time I throw it out.

My cat looks proud of himself.
I ask, “When are you gonna stop?” and
“Why’d you have to put it in the toilet?”
But he can’t answer
through a mouthful of mouse fur.

Someone hit pause on my game of life,
I'm now on a coordinated assault about the subject of limbo,
Stepping onto buses that are running ahead of schedule,
Following a clock and assuming I know how to read it,
You see time has forgotten me,
Caring only for my serenity not my sanity,
The outstanding speech was really a hidden filibuster,
Time has won when I know what's going to happen next,
Different tracks splitting on an atom,
Spinning gears, cutting ties, Following death,
In that second I am on pause

Cold wet nose bumps mine
Kitten paws prance on my chest
Purring alarm clock...

i'm not impervious to the fact that
if the universe allows
i will grow old and die one day
i know that my skin will draw back from itself
the way picasso drew on canvas
and vines and creases will work their way
into my once fair and smooth skin
but when i go i want long flowing white hair
that brushes my back gentle as a feather
and lingers behind me like a second goodbye
hair that i can twirl into knots absentmindedly
an braid while bored in church
i want ink stains on my hand from the spilled
ink of writing poetry and stories
notebooks filled with the words that came
out of the sharp movements of my hands
and my hands
i want hands soft but worn
like my mother's favorite winter coat
i want hands that have held and let go
i want hands that know what the hell they're doing
i want toenails painted the most obnoxious
shade of red and mascara packed on like a
suitcase going on a trip to heaven
i want to be that old lady with the cats
because, let's face it, we all know i'm already
that old lady with the cats
they'll be named names from literature and plays
and i'll hope their names match their counterparts
but if they don't i'll love them anyways and
hold them with these hands that will have held
onto so many things before
when i go i want to have lived
and i want to have lived really really good

∞ ∞ ∞

everyone despises of
the ******* cat, as it yells
across the forest as a 3 year
old would do.

he writes his stories on stolen
leaves of the lonely pine tree.
shaking awake the jungle as it
sleeps into the whispering wind.

he struts down the moss carpet
as no one else would do
the trees even give a glare
as sharp as his claws.

everyone despises of the ******* cat

∞ ∞ ∞