Don’t be a dead man walking.
No need to be a sitting duck.
Don’t be down on your luck.
No need to be feeling bad
when you miss all the things
you wish you could have back.
Don’t stare at your reflection
for too long. Change it up.
No need to replay the song.
Move on. Wake up and look
alive. Buy the ticket and enjoy
the ride. Know when to show
and when to hide. Look alive.
No need to slip into the night
when we can just take flight.
Time continues to slip
through my gentle grip.
The clothes on my back
continue to get ripped.
My words get flipped.
Blue skies open wide
bringing those who hide
out into the holy light.
Blue skies seem to fade
to gray when the sun
goes away. I don’t mind
doing a little dance
under the thunder.
Days fade to gray
as rain drops drip
onto a vacant crypt.
All colors eventually
fade to gray. Evidently,
some shade is man-made.
At the start, there were many
just like me: a town full of us.
Now, my heart stays empty.
A store once stood where I
am standing. A church, once
alive, has been laid to rest.
A school that once thrived
is now a page in the history
books. A hospital that once
stood strong is long gone.
Many fled the tiny town,
and some stayed to face
the inevitable destruction
coming their way. Lives
were lost in the small war.
All I could do was watch
as fire surrounded, leaving
me stranded. Many years
later, there is only one left.
I am the man who made it.
I survived life’s greatest
test, and I see the world
for what it is. I am blessed
to be the only one left.
Callaced and rough, tough
skin cuts when touched.
Tough skin worn by men.
Holding axes, shovels, and
tools makes you tough.
Sometimes, it is enough.
Other times, the man hides
behind his tough skin.
It is not manly to be soft.
Have you heard this before?
Women can’t be tough.
It is not womanly to chop
down a tree. Women must
plant seeds. Who says I can’t
be soft? I am tired of being
tough. I think men should be
sensitive, too. All men’s tears
should water the seeds, while
women tear weeds. We must
break free from norms and
set forms that used to be.
We can be tough, rough, soft,
or hard. We can live together
with our skin and talk about
the places we have been.
Where were you in 95’?
Were you even alive?
I was born on May 28:
To me, it’s a special date.
I didn’t know much
as I was out of touch.
95’ was a good year
because I didn’t feel fear.
Now 24, I open up doors
to places without floors.
The falls are bottomless;
they don’t hurt, I promise.
I’ve learned how to live
a life that I gladly give.
95’ is my year of birth:
my first day on earth.
I have been blessed
to be put to life’s test.
I don’t remember 95’,
but I can rewind time.
I remember being 5
and how the sun shined.
I remember being 10
and the places I’ve been.
I remember being 15
with a spirit so clean.
I remember being 20,
working to earn money.
Now 24, I just want more.
I want what I didn’t have.
Now 24, I can now laugh
at what held me back.
I am blessed to be here,
to see a year reappear.
95’, a year I think about
brings me zero doubt.
Now 24, I feel alive –
Thanks to the year: 95’.
IN YOUR DREAMS POETRY 