The smoke from the tip of my cigarette pencils an abstract art on the air.
I remember childhood like it was yesterday,
the sky was divided into a bright pink and a tranquil blue,
it looked like a childhood filled with playgrounds, and playing hero
I felt innocent, when I was a child,
when I laughed and played.
I can barely remember what it feels like
to not be burdened,
to have happiness pass by, stop, see my body, and step inside,
so I can feel all right,,
I yearn for that day but all I get is night
a cold moon instead of the warm sunlight,
it just doesn’t feel quite right.
Like I’m a rooster posing as an owl
I am born to crow at the rising sun,
but I’m so lost that when the moon is out all I cry is who?
Who have I become?
Who thinks of me as great?
Who will hear what I have to say?
Some poems are depressants
like I’m a pharmacist who’s drugs are words.
Once I watched my friends souls pass me by in a hearse.
Tell me what’s worse,
to stand in a church and curse?
or to never speak of what hurts?
I will not let my soul die,
it’s ok everything is going to be all right.
I used to keep my head in the clouds
so they nicknamed me the kite.
one day when the string breaks I will sail away,
off to find some other place to play.
This poem is about: