Chances are I'm not the man I think I am. Chances are I'm not the man
I make myself out to be.
Chances are I'm somewhere in between.
Chances are it's the same for you too.
Now, whether that's a good thing or bad thing, that's up to you.
But whatever the answer, Chances are,
you're amazing just the way you are

Why so much violence
Why can't we find peace
Why are you protesting
causing so much destruction
is that really better ?
Breaking windows
spraying hate upon
these walls
Your destroying
people's lives
your turning our
city into a ugly ****** up
mess
How does that get your message across ?
Grow the **** up
and look up protesting
see it's meaning are you reading the meaning ?
It's about using your voice and standing up
Your all acting like brats
hurting others
acting like bullies
that's not protesting
your not getting attention
Your getting us *******
I hope you get to feel the
damage your causing
You belong in a cell
Where you can't destroy
and steal and throw
temper tantrums
Where you can't spread
your ugliness
and we can find peace
and find our way ahead
It has to stop
your not proving anything
I know you must be stopped
it has to end
it's no longer about
race or hate
It's about adults who are
acting like children
You need to learn
the meaning
of protesting
You need to build others
up and help people see
there is a way forward
So stop just stop
We can handle this
You need to be taught
a lesson and karma
will handle you soon
I just hope sooner
not later
© Jennifer L DeLong 🦏
4/17/2021

time
time
time
it’s slipping away
why won’t it stop?
why won’t it stay?
time
time
time
please wait.

The not not bird
listens to its not not song
in the not not tree
near my not not door.

And in its song it hears
something not not grand
compared to all the other
not not birds
in all the other not not lands.

The not not bird
doesn’t know
all the not not things
it’s suppose not to know.

It sees not the not not leaves
written in this poetry.
Smells not the not not flowers
swaying not in the not not breeze.
Hears not the buzzing of not not wings
of all the yellow not not bees
supping on all this wondrous not not majesty.

For this not not door of mine
is neither not not open
nor not not close.
For that is not the not not providence
of this not not poem to define.

I choose wether or not
all this not not nonsense
shall be or not not be
in some future not not prosody.

For those who beg to decline
I privy thee to write
your own **** not not rhyme!

18
What a strange age

Expected to grow up
Expected to change

But there is a problem
With what they request,
I’m not quite done growing
And I’m still quite a mess

They tell me I’m ready
That I have to move on

Won’t somebody tell me
Where my childhood’s gone?

What are these taxes?
Why must I move out?
If I haven’t the money,
Shall I sleep on the ground?

Nobody told me
How to accept
The loss of my childhood
As a normal event

It may not have been nice
And it may not have been good
And I might have been through stuff
That no child should

But I am not ready
To give it all up
To trade for my hours,
Everyday at a job

I don’t know how to fight it
I’m not sure I can

But at least I am finding
The person I am

At 18 I’m growing
And I’ll keep in my hand
That of another me,
The one of my Past