Tuesday, December 6, 2011

a poem entitled ' stop coming to class high '

i wanted to call you up
but you dont talk on the phone
you only walk and moan home
and balk maximums at all my attempts to be
a pretty girl
to be noticed
to be free
to be played
to be heard
to be seen
she had low self esteem
to be fire
to be ice
to be a kitten
brand new
to be locked up
to be old
one day i'm going to grow old
i can't read fine print
twenty nine years later
youre an alligator
a gorilla in the mist
youre diane fossey
your bossy
youre young and afraid
so you wont listen to me
but you stare at my shoes
and ask me where i'm from
i am human i am human
look at me
you say i'm not real
but i'm whats in front of you
flesh and bone
i'm the one with the eraser and the pen
i'm a damn good friend to you
i stare aimlessly into nothing and wonder
if the next planet is real
if we landed on the moon
last night i dreamt about the mosque
by the museum free 'em all
i prayed and leapt to a mercy beyond
my soul i asked you i asked you i said
take me away
i want to go there
i think youre onto
s o m e t h i n g.

x

le fin.

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