My soft spot My sweet boy I’d do anything for Who convinced me Little boys are the best
Steamroller Of life Passed by Feeling down Squished
Dime ¿Qué es su lengua materna? Ni inglés Ni español Sus padres no hablan inglés
If you find someone That can do it Better than you Get them on your team
To love reading Writing and words And not be able to Communicate Frustrated
I would never choose To eat a granola bar Or peanut butter crackers Though I eat them All of the time
To be a true artist Must they be recluses Crazy mad or sick Or even better dead Show me a healthy artist
When the emotion comes up It feels like heartburn Like acid Clenching my throat My ears go watery
What if one day I wasn’t there for you? And you were left needing me If I wasn’t there When you woke up
How do you measure pain? All is relative and personal Even with one’s own self It is impossible to compare As memory distorts pain
You might know her As blonde eyes Or as the sister who bakes cookies But you see I don’t write this
Well-intentioned stranger Eyeing me limp through HEB Why would you ask If I stepped on a nail? How do you know
Would I rather be A younger me? More productive Stronger Would i have to give up
It’s not that I’m sad Though I am It’s not that I’m discouraged Though I am It soaks deeper
It’s not pretty When I cry People get almost as embarrassed as I