Pick up the phone. Open Facebook. Yikes.
Face palm. Like, SMH. It’s alright to not
complain. Try to talk to someone with
a brain in their head without a phone
in their hand. Change of plans. Relax
your hands. Now, open Twitter. Yikes.
Nothing but litter. Open Instagram. Yikes.
Robots disguised as humans. Souls traded
for likes. Yikes. The internet can’t
be real because it doesn’t think or feel.
Yet, people that use it do, but they forget
what’s really real. What’s the big deal?
These words are real. They will live on
long after I’m gone. Pick up the phone.
Yikes. Put it down before you drown.
Haunted by voices, the only child sees
shadows pass by. When he closes
his eyes, he can still see the demons
haunting him. Noise fills the still air.
Haunted by those who won’t leave,
he stays up all night. One night,
the only child hears his name being called.
Afraid and awake, he walks toward
the voice calling his name. He gets
close enough to see a ballpoint pen
lodged between a blank journal.
The only child picks up the pen, filling
up the blank pages. He writes, “I’m not
real” over and over. The voices stop,
and the shadows disappear. The only
child closes the journal, then the curtains
are thrown open. The shining light
illuminates his transparent face.
The light shines right through.
Surrounded by life, the only child sees
his future then jumps into the past. It felt
so real for him. He almost forgot, he was
a lurking shadow, once alive and well.
The only child visits the blank journal
now and again to encounter memories
once made, remembered, and forgot.
The consensus is I must mention
the five senses. Our eyes help us see
different human beings. It can be
a sight to behold when people fold.
Smells expose our noses; we know
what is rotten based on the smell.
We can tell when people go bad, too.
We can have a taste of the good life
if we work day and night. We must
touch the hearts of those who are
feeling down. We must feel for all
things under the sun and those
under the gun. Most importantly,
we have to look out and see life
for what it is and is not. Think
about the energy you put out
into the world and ask yourself
if you are truly being yourself.
We must wake up and smell
the roses on a constant basis.
Feel the love – ask for help.
Take the time to see yourself
shine and remember to breathe;
we cannot forget to breathe.
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.