I see flowers growing
down the road. I see
them shooting through
the concrete. Under
my feet isn’t a street;
it’s a dirt road only
the roughest feet know.
I hear birds chirping
down the road. I see
the sun shoot rays
down the road. Now,
I stay in place, as I
take up space. I see
what could possibly be
in front of me. Down
the road is where I’ll go.
This is where I be.
This is where I’m free:
away from people
and near the sea.
I float away. I cut
all burning ropes.
This is where I be:
caught in-between
being alone
and feeling free.
Like the ocean
breeze, I create
a flow I know,
and I just go.
This is where I be.
This is where I feel
myself. I am me:
just where I need
to be – living
next to the trees.
Afterwards, I felt better.
I said what I needed
to say. I needed to speak –
to allow my words to be
real – on the other side of
my skull – from my soul.
I needed to cool off: chill.
I tried to think before
I talked and after words,
I now know if I’ve been
heard. Beforehand, know
that I was hot and cold.
I was both young and old.
After words, I feel better.
I know I have grown up.
Afterwards, understand
my demand and take
my hand. Lead me to
a place that’s bright
and blue and open, too.
Where do we go after
words? Do we stay?
Either way, I will be here
before or afterwards.
The road stays long no matter my speed. Everything goes wrong for those in need. The road shows no mercy to those hurting; It doesn't freeze those who are burning. The road is driven and often abused. Many drive the road with a life to lose. The road was made by a fearless soul crafting diamonds out of coal. The road to nowhere is always open And never is the way we are hoping.
I am from strangers overcrowding
a small military room, from Top Ramen
noodles and Welch’s jelly. I am
From constant breezes shaping
younger generations. I am from Evergreen
trees envy for green and power,
the thick shells of grown gooey ducks.
I am from fresh French Dip dinners
on Thursday night and an entanglement
of thick hair. From Cody, Eva, and Heather
posing as clowns, lions, and monkeys
for Halloween, I am from the crazy
on my Dad’s side working in my favor
and the dangerous and creative on my Mom’s
side providing a vibrant life. From the
anything is possible and the express yourself
no matter what. I am from a home that spent
Sunday mornings eating wings
instead of growing them, watching the Hawks
felt more natural than the possibility of
a higher power; the power I felt I needed
came from myself. I am from Newport News,
Virginia, From the blue sky that made up
my great great Grandpa’s German eyes.
From the busted lip of my sister when
I realized my golf swing was unpredictable,
the gash on my brother’s hand when I realized
I’m not cut out to be a ninja and from
when my sister, Sporty Spice, I mean Heather tried
to become a Spice Girl. I am random pictures
thrown in a very valuable cardboard
box. I am from the black ink that bleed out
of my Dad’s unreliable pen and the worn down
shoes passed down that did not have souls,
even though we did.
IN YOUR DREAMS POETRY 