dandelions grow
through concrete, cracking the stone
their will was strongest

My legs are heavier than I am used to,
Except it feels so familiar,
I think this happens every night when I try to run in my dreams,
And its like forcing each step forward through thick syrup
Hardening wet concrete
A rapidly thickening slurry coating me.

I am weighed down by it, down on my knees now, hoping that grabbing the ground and pulling myself forward will increase my momentum
Ripping out handfuls of grass trying to get the earth to treadmill beneath me
Clay under my nails, more slurry, more layers,

The earth is a part of my lungs now
Wet pink webbing hardening from the outside in
Thin tendrils brittle and breaking off, sun-dried,
Cracking and dusty and making its way up my throat
A river bed of mud consuming the space in my mouth,
I reach in with my fingers and scoop out the muck and throw it but it keeps coming,
Filling and refilling my mouth, faster than my fingers can dig it out
Thick like dentist's putty, coating my tongue and teeth like taffy

The fear is always there
The fear mixed with the drowning feeling, drowning in wet clay,
Suffocating and afraid
That it will still be the same even when I wake up

Concrete is useful

and poetic, concrete makes –


nature pain concrete.

storm clouds rising            somewhere up ahead
blossoms tossing              shadowed on the wind
skies are changing                  blue is running red
searching for forgiveness                    for our sins
in the darkness                         under forest cover
eyes that hide from hunters                 passing by
we hold these truths
                               clutched to us like our mother
we tell these stories hoping                they're a lie
raindrops splashing             fat upon the flowers
shaking leaves and          dampening the ground
summer's waking thunder              tolls the hour
what never has been lost            cannot be found
young buds open          now their time has come
senescent giants falling                       free the sun

you've heard about the rose,
that grew from concrete,
it learned to walk,
without having feet.

funny it seems,
we forget about the rose who,
never got the chance,
to keep his dreams.
or a chance to
breathe free.
like the rose who succumbed underneath
all of life's adversities.
like the rose who was shot,
by a force of unjust police.
or the rose who fell victim
to generational poverty.
or the rose who was born with a
serious disability.
or the rose who came from a
long line of broken families.
or the rose who felt the effects
everyday of inequality.
making it harder for him
to spread his great leaves.

lets not forget,
about the rose who couldn't,
rise and beat the concrete,
and whose body lies underneath the concrete,
lets not forget
about the rose who couldn't rise from a crack between,
the concrete.