My days fly by like a hummingbird.
Catch me time travelling through words; an epic.
I often smell of ink and lavender--when I write to feel better.
Other times, frankincense and overheating cell phones.
It gets lonely in a city where the best friend you’ve made is a stranger’s dog.
My headphones are in my ears most of the time, to block out the confusion.
Dead artists give me advice throughout the day, leading my soul to where it grows.
I think poetry more than I write it;
there’s a rhythm in my head that I crave to find the right words for.
It is- the sound of marching and begging for freedom that doesn’t come
It is- protesting peacefully when justice is avoided
It is- breaking windows and shooting back at unfit police officers.
One day, I will love like the trees
Who blossom every spring
And do not shed tears for the leaves that leave.
I will build like the birds working on their nests
That can be abandoned or destroyed without notice.
Eyedea still tells me to walk, and the rest will follow.
But When I look up to the sky tonight, I will see red fog
Not stars, that sing the truth of what I am and who you are.
This new sky is a reminder of the chains I cannot escape.
It doesn’t matter if your chains are 10 feet or 100 feet.
The fact remains the same; I’m still bound by chains.
And with this new distance I will change.
A phoenix that burns itself alive
Reborn from the ashes.