Sunday 2/26/2006 10:51:00 PM

They'll say you're wrong. And they might be right.

Need to know the question before.

They'll look just like footsteps, but they'll never sound that way. Just breathing. Waiting for a sound that never comes.

The first time you hear them laugh it'll sound just like you imagined it in your head. Abrupt and shy. Like the eyes of a teenager.

You'll let that sound stay with you. Just as the closet keeps its shadows. All those colors carefully tucked under. All yours.

They'll look at you. As cats do mice. With claws retracted.

The fear is genuine.

And you can look back. If you want to. With your shrinking eyes. And try to see.

You won't.

Love. And truth. And pain. They're all colorblind. And illiterate. You'll never understand the lessons you've written for yourself until you're forced to live them. Never notice the marks they left on your skin.

They'll always be. Poetry. Words without an anchor. Ships without a sail.

So many oceans between then and now. Her and them.

The maps I draw all lead to nowhere.

Anonymous said...

that sucks gurl u won't get anywhere wit those pems

Anonymous said...

It's alright, I've written better...

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2018. All Rights Reserved.