my poetry is like graffiti.
some people choose to see it as a mess.
some people see it as an expression of pain and oppression.
some people love it as art.
some people drive right by it without ever noticing.
we rarely met the artists/rascals who tag our street signs, sidewalks, cement blocks.
maybe the point was to get us riled up.
at least we are paying attention.
i’m tired of living this life in a frame.
i get to spend enough time asleep and
we’ll all one day be buried underneath it all.
everything we have worked for, against, if anything
will be built on our own bones and our own souls.
maybe i can do something
with this moment of life
that is more than just
that. breath.
