I love how anonymous all
Are in the sky. All are insomniacs, all children are home,
Where are the adults? Who are the cities that gleam likes hope in the dark abyss.
What is no and what is yes? Lets all ignore the impending need to forget, we could all die
Hand in hand. Then what is my cordia gesture to you. Your hand missing from my own is like an emty shell. Hollow and hoping. I will never be afraid to question, and rebel against implementation. I will never be afraid to crawl inside your heart and haunt your every thought. I promise that I there, already. I imagine loosing you to the horizon and cryptically smile, debilitating and paralyzing I would give my good grace to a tortured sea. In searching for yo I find the empty that I hate
I know your eyes like they are the dark,
I want to find them now.
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waiting for summer is like waiting for jesus. long, frustrating, and he's probably not coming to your town anyway.
ReplyDeletebut that didn't matter to us. we ran through the streets tearing down all the posters and putting up our own. we wore respirators for scarves and spray paint for perfume. we'd run when we saw flashing lights and then pretend we hadn't in front of all the others. instead of the teen center we had the public park. guitars never run out of batteries and our voices don't need charging. we would keep each other warm when everyone else just cranked the heat and even when it was hot out we'd sleep in the same bed. when the sun came up we'd sit on the sidewalk and make our breakfast from the smell of diesel and fresh cut grass. you couldn't get us to change even if we wanted to.
but just like jesus summer was gone too soon. and summer didn't come back after three days.
I breathe. I think. I feel.
ReplyDeleteI am defined not by what I can do, but what I choose to do.
Is it right to assume that because someone can do something
That they must do something?
Where do our obligations lay?
Do we put them there intentionally,
Or do we not control where they do or do not fall?
Surely the ability to control exists, or does it?
Repetition. Repeat. Redo.
Let us shake the mold of our confinement.
We are trapped, we are free
Actually, I think I'll stay and do as I please.
Who do you think I am?
Look at me, please, and tell me what you see.
No, I think that's wrong. You don't know me at all.
This is who I am. Right here. I am me.