a pebble pounce bounces down the deep street
blowing with the brushing breeze
until the undertones of unpleasant winds
bring to a stop the stumbling pebbles steep steps-

listen
catch your breath
before life convinces you
to waist your lungs on a screaming match
with a sidewalk-
you don't know about the wind
little pebble.
all you know about is your pounce bounce
flouncing, doused in doing your daily doings-
yet you don't know about the wind
little pebble.
when your steps are stopped, you must be stopped
and when the breeze dies down, you cannot move-
yet you think you are in control of your movements

listen
acknowledge that you don't know where you are going
or what you're doing with your goings
and maybe
when the goings stop their showing
and tentative winds stop blowing
and you are sitting
stuck
without motion
on a sidewalk crack
slipping through
yet intact
maybe you will not curse the road you are on
but thank the wind for carrying you this far
little pebble.

just an undercooked
distasteful rare
half way there
mouthful of hair
always striving
with underwhelming care
to do my least best
the least that i can
the least i can bare
-
yet that's all it takes
to be standing here
making clear
with joyous sneers
praised for malintent
in how i lead my peers
to do their least best
the least that they can
the least they can fear

there aren't enough blank screens
and entertaining fillings
to make me feel like my words have meaning
and that life is worth taking off the gloves
touching
feeling-
breathing in and being thankful for living.

someone came along
and cut the string-
scissors in hand
with malicious intendings;

its fun to watch things fall
or weightless things float to the ceiling
to watch them crack open
or lose shape at the breaking endings-

and i
run back to see
the things i kept close to me
are destroyed or out of reach-
just a boy
staring at the sky
wondering when that balloon will come back down for me-
or when the rubber will touch the sun and begin melting.

people are either clouds
caverns
or crowds
-jagged inside and out
hard to condense into one thing
or a mystery, never to be pulled down.
yet they capture
our eyes
and minds
making us wonder what lies inside:
what is left to be figured out.

i play with a pencil, placed on my desk
pattering the patterns playing in my head
and heart, helping me to focus on the board
proudly performing arts in art class, thinking of more
than the blank page
the perfect slate
the new creation to be made
im creating
recreating
imitating
the intimidating, impressive instrument
imprinting the imprints through pencil and finger prints
banging out the band's
sick-nasty
convulsive
seizure inducing
polyrhythms-
i shake my head
but i wish i could shake my soul
scream out of control
yell until their ears bleed
and i ***** uncontrollably
to the sound of these sounds sounding
like i need to say something to stop their stomping, stamping, pounding

-the teacher kicks my desk
and tells me to get back to work
and to stop tapping
because i should be doing something else;
it doesn't matter
can't remember what it was i was supposed to be doing anyway-

i might not always be the best fit
and might not be able to squeeze my edges in
i will doubt myself again
and i will think that someone else belongs where i am-

there isn't enough time in the day
for me to get the thoughts out of the way
to deal with the shame
and the self hate-
as the minute hand spins round and around
i cannot stop myself
from thinking that God's breath was waisted
that he should've made someone else
and that the air i've tasted
should've been ****** from my lungs
something i never should've felt.
i see the sun in others eyes
and worship their beauty
and curse my ground
because the radiating light
from the sun i'm viewing
could never come from my mouth
or my heart
or something inside my stomach
growling for more-
all i do is consume
and drink up the spills on the floor-
i am the dog
begging for the scraps
and i am unworthy of anything
besides that.
besides the moldy trash.

i might not always be the best fit
and might not be able to squeeze my edges in
i will doubt myself again
and i will think that someone else belongs where i am-
because where could i belong!
where would my place be
would i sit beside you
or beneath your feet-

(my heart humbled knows what i deserve
-the worst
-the crumbs
-the feet upon my head
but you pick me up
tell me i'm free
wash me clean
throw me a feast
robe me
and celebrate how you are no longer lonely
for your cherished son
who did you wrong
and spit on your name
is not lost in a grave
but is home-
i
am
home)