The Escape Artist

I slide through a window.
Dropping two stories to
the ground. I run around
trying to find a place
to escape. I am gone;
I am free from the past
and the shadow it casts.
I run down the street
with the toughest feet.
Barefoot and confused:
the moon is my muse.
I was free – a simple sign
To escape again. I escape
to find the perfect rhyme –
words that define my life.

The Violence in Silence

Sure, words can hurt me and you,
but have you ever been ignored?
The silent, but violent, lack-of-noise
should never be explored or adored.
The pain created from nothing soared
in the silence you can always afford.
The hurt can become overwhelming;
The truth in your silence is very telling.
I wish I could extract your thoughts
because you don’t want to talk.
There is no way to connect the dots,
but I notice something in your walk.
The silence surrounding you is heavy
and I want to hear words. I’m ready.
There is a certain violence in silence
that often appears with malice.
We can always think about our words,
but until they’re said, they’ll always hurt.