Be a difference
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As I grow and learn and mature
in a world
where all number of things
(but especially people)
are sorted and labeled,
shoved into boxes like leftovers
into too-small containers,
“Damn, he’s good.
Damn, he can write.
What’s he going to do?”
But I want to fight.
I’ve written so much that I’ve ran out of room,
All this paper and these staples and four thumbrives, too.
A child.
A wonderful miracle to still be alive.
All alone inside a box on a street;
The umbilical cord still attached.
A small child left alone; a small child abandoned.
