and i am not the man
who tells you
your scars are luminous

i am poor company
even on the best of days

am worse when
the sky is an iridescent grey
and the rain begins
to fall

what i remember
from my childhood is my
mother crying in the bedroom
while rocks pelted the
front of the house

laughter from the
wooded lot across the street
and the recurring dream
of fire spreading from
room to room

and i wanted to scream
but nothing came out
and so i grew up
to be a poet

disappointed my family
with each new choice and
learned not to care

there are
ways to survive on
nothing but anger and

there are reasons to
step back and let the
addicts of this world
destroy themselves

none of us were ever
beauty without a price

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