Cassette canaries

I tuck away the parts of myself
Folding each fold
Intricately
Hidden
In circumstances that to be unpredictable
Is to remain strong
I judge silently
Weighing each option
That no one can hurt me
I judge,
Conspicuously
Arranging how honest one person can be
Without feeling as if a white lie
Can be traded for a piece of relief
That the outcomes of our lives are uncertain
I sing as a canary
Who claims to sing mostly croaking wails
When in light,
I come as kinder
As a traveler who speaks not of the perils of his town,
Nor the war that wages
But when the sun rises,
It shines perfectly to catch the glean on the forest of trees

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The rat race to become human

Anguish arises when you dedicate your life,
Hoping to not leave it in ashes
Ruins of desperation
That time itself is not enough
To stop what ails us as being human
Utterly
Disgustingly 
Beautifully
Flesh, Bones
Tendons and artificial technological advancements
Of our ancestors
I arrive as patient as a silent war
One that brews underneath the soil
Beneath rubber boots
And wallowing victims
Who cry to not be found
When they are hiding from
More than life.
Our moments that I tend to remember
Were the imperfect attempts at a sensational life
That depicts itself in photographs
When I ought
To find myself in thought
That we’ve made it this far
To get wherever else we need to be
Feel like we need to be
Undoubtedly,
We are trying to complete the rat race

When I was five years old

I am something out of a picture book,  making quests up the stairs.  Each wooden stair was the stump of a tree; swinging one leg in front of the other, I made it to our first floor. Our house floated right over a church. The pews were a dull maroon color and the aisles were huge. I use to think if you weren’t careful, you could never leave that place. You can’t stay down there at night either. I never did find out why that was necessarily.

From time to time, our couches were as wide as boats and the cushions never seemed to end.

Explanations

I give you
what I am
What I ascribe
Chase, grab, pinch and desire
I give you as much as what I remember to be real
Inclusions of childhood recollections and burnt candles to the nub
Ladies who press pennies into our four year old hands
tithes and offering
Mildred, speaks to me
That even the smallest amount means something

*Writers block*

Where do we get our names?

Far off in the beaming sun, a Kenyan woman stoops hacking away at sugar canes. She stops to adjust her straw hat, one side of it has a dead flower pinned to it. That flower ne’er fleets her unless its been replaced. She tends to hold on to things and give people the benefit of the doubt–

“What a lady” the workers comment. As soon as she walks up the path, children and women with fruits stop to greet her. They yell “jumbo” and “Asifewe”. ┬áMen tend to smile as they wipe the sweat from their brow, biking along the path to the market.

My father once said that when departing, the lady with my name who was bestowed with it first, had flowers flourish where she had beenbefore.

The sleepover

Write about a kid who is about to a dare she really doesn’t want to do.

The kids sat in a crescent shaped circle, they wiggled with anticipation that this was it. Laura would finally do it, as much as she tried to say she was tired and just wanted to sleep. Sleepovers are made for this moment alone. Laura’s forehead began to perspire sweat and she twisted the ends of her two french braids. She stood up and almost fell down.

Quickly, she very quietly said “Jacob”.

The kids in the crescent summoning howled! The room full of girls in arm with their American girl dolls erupted with shock. Why would Laura like Jacob, he smells like a tuna sandwich.

A-Z Mentality

Acquiring knowledge can challenge the mind

Be swift and punctual when you grieve

Come apart as though you know you will be together again

Does it become easier to learn, when you’re old?

Each thing you’ve known up to this point, will it move you?

Find the parts of yourself no one recognizes

Gently, the minister’s wife says our movement should be

Harvest all that you can to share abundantly

I give to you what I need to survive

Just as though my heart contains responsibility in loving

Killing a disease that strikes when we are fed

Let me become as a scholar that teaches to learn

Mouths pursed

Now let children look to skies without wondering if it caves in

Oh, what is it to be as nimble to go through life

Pushing constant as a thread through a needle

Question the world, child

Robustly an old man at the corner of 2nd street

Stand as though what is underneath you

Takes courage to overcome but not look down upon

Understand fairy tales are told for people to share common ground in any language

Vast the oceans and terrain stretch

Wanderers never seize to sell all of it

Xenophobia: a fear of those strange and peculiar tell the best travels

Yearn for what ignites you, fiery flames can remain ablaze if you allow them

Zones may divide us but we are collected to acquire what we have begun to understand