| This head holds fragments of some shattered glass. |
| They act as puzzle pieces
|
| with a sharp contrast in part to what once hung here before the violent
|
| collapse of the whole dang thing. |
| I’ve dug through pieces and ripped out my
|
| hair. |
| No way to tell if they are all still there. |
| No way to tell if I will ever
|
| fully see my reflection again
|
| I was born on a set of stairs, higher than i was even aware. |
| I looked down to
|
| enjoy the view, and I caught a glimpse of you. |
| You were tired, and hungry,
|
| and cold. |
| Your hands were hard and your face was old. |
| Your legs collapsed as
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| you fell and spat, «Have you found what you’re looking for yet?»
|
| My hands hold letters from an old past self. |
| I’d say we’re all alone,
|
| and I’d know how it felt to be one whose lost, and cold, and empty.
|
| And I would sit down on the ground. |
| And the system would say «Move on.
|
| There’s nothing to see here. |
| We’ve got to keep this engine going.
|
| And this resistance has us slowing. |
| And if he’s more for you, then he is less
|
| for us, and that’s exactly the kind of people we can’t trust.»
|
| And now I’m moving at the pace of the surrounding freezing air, desiring to
|
| spit straight into the face of billionaires. |
| But too dang far cowardly to do
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| this on my own. |
| I’m clinging to my theory books, Nietzsche, and Thoreau
|
| My life’s a flower and its growing but I’m so insecure. |
| The trick is always
|
| knowing its the rain that keeps us pure. |
| Its the food for my mind and body,
|
| and it brings me back to earth, so when the sun rises I can cut out all my
|
| doubt
|
| There is a light and it never goes out
|
| I’ll burn a hole in my chest so you can see through
|
| I’ll tell you things I thought I never knew
|
| We’ll build a home for me and you
|
| I’ll see the world for what I want it to be and nothing else |