Do the math, add it up, one plus two is four, run the numbers....
You have one mother plus one father they have four kids. They teach those kids to hate, in subliminal ways mind you. Those kids marry and have two kids each, that they teach to hate.(more) Then they each marry and have two kids each, who carry on the family tradition of hate, racism and sideways dinner jokes.
Keeping up with history, their kids marry, having two kids.. So let me run the numbers here.
What started out with two close-minded, ignorant people has ended up with ninety-eight people, bred and fed on hate and biogtry. So in the span of four generations in one family we have a tribe of fools. Multiply that by the thousands across this fine land and you get what, an army of idiots.
I was never in the dark. Even in uterus I had my eyes wide open. For if they closed, how could I see all of the horror and beauty? We need a mixture of both so that one never forgets what came before, is happening now and what lies(more) around the curve.
I will live in the dark when I die, until then, head up, eyes forward. (less)
I have never had a pair of new shoes. Every pair ever given to me were either too big, small or had holes in the soles. Boss man gave me some boots one year that he claimed were new, but I saw the scuff marks on the sides and(more) knew someone else had walked in them. When my brother got married, Papi bought him a used pair from the store in town and a few years later they came to live in my closet. Wonder what unscratched leather looks like? I aim to leave this plantation before the winter comes and when I get to that big city, get me a job; first thing I’ma buy is some shoes. They will be so black I can shave in the reflection and the laces I will keep untangled each day.
Yes sir, I’ma get me them new shoes and won’t never have to wear anyone’s old crap again.
You are a remarkable man that deserves to be remarked upon. Here are the FIVE BEST things that keep me attached:
-Through a past of horror you find beauty..everywhere
-The bass of your voice resembles an african drum beat, calling the children in from play
-That valley in your(more) throat was the first thing I noticed..I saw life beating in that small, dented space
-When I speak, you listen..not hear, but truly listen and nod ever so slightly each time I pause as if to say, "yes, continue..it's important, your words have meaning and matter".
-You rescued a dying woman. (less)
capital hill is leaning
(more) sidewalk cracks
that hold garbage
from the stooges
that fed faith
down a drain
yet paris, lisbon
and the cheetah
on a serengeti shake their head
for they can see
that Rome is burning,
and all we have
is a kinked water hose.
Maybe I should.. or should not..
If I can, then I will. If I can't, no chance of it happening. Then again, there are no absolutes in life, always room for error. When I think of words like "maybe" I always break it down to it's core meaning. "It may-be(more) sunny today", "You may be the right one for this job", etc. If I look for a picture of the word "maybe", I see a quarter being tossed in the air..It may be heads or it maybe tails..never lands on it's side. Ever..
So all that being said, maybe I should not think about whether I maybe the one, and if the sun will shine today..
(reaches in pocket for a quarter) (less)
You were my guy. Did not really know what a girl was to do with her guy, but I had one.
In my quiet world, you reached in and placed me on the street corner. Told me to watch and listen. Made me notice the way the clouds moved(more) in the sky, making pictures and such. Thought it was important I knew that in silence, music could still be heard, felt.
So I watched, felt and listened as cars drove past, people shuffled by. I learned to live.
Of all the things remembered, it’s the red rag that hung from your left back pocket. The very one you wiped your hands on after pumping gas in that car, the one that drove past my learning eyes.
Your fingerprints lived in those fibers.
I always wanted that red rag.