What You Make Of It

August 21, 2011
Teacher said to me

stand up and tell your story

so I'll do just that.



I saw my days shine

Yeah, shine all day, everyday

Then they were taken.



I survive on strength

and I breathe in your many lies

Yeah, he stole my heart.



Eyes drenched in so called

sorrows through you have not left.

But I'll survive here.



But anyway, this

is the story of me and

not his many faces.



Years have passed since I

Saw your face shining over me

Many nights I feared.

I've looked out the window waiting

for you to say you're right there.



But all I've seen is a shattered world of

lifelessness and distress; are they missing you too?

Bullies and liars and dealers and stealers

and the racism we deny everyday..



This thing we call "care" when we give

"everything" to someone although we

complain of having "nothing" but for them

in our arguments we always swore we gave "something"



And the nights so long that I have purposely

made this way and adapted to its environment

of saggy eyes and midnight cries

and a tomorrow that never comes fast enough.



Who knows the lies I've told but my own soul

That everyone is so convinced you can clense clean

in a building with a man in a black robe, and

a white neck tie and tap water within a fountain.



He says he can fly,

She says se can be a friend;

But I say I can make an angel from the ashes of hell.

And clearly we know who lied, He lied;

He cannot fly!



And in the end he'll think and she'll think

of going to gates in the clouds and I'll pop their dreams to remind them

just how far under in what a beautiful box they

are really going.



Then on Tuesdays I'll visit the local drunk

and pay for a few drinks and let the foaming bubbles

pop all my troubles.



Wednesday morning I'll wake up on the park bench

wishing I had remember what happened last night

and instead forget all my regrets.



What made my skin so soft but the hands that had to first torture it?



I've added a husband, subtracted a friend;

divided my family and multiplied my children.



Too bad this is life, yeah, it's life. Up and down,

Twisted and cinical but none the less

nothing more than what I have made it.



What have I made it you ask?

I have made it the same as love:

Something we have believed in for so long,

its mystery has become my reality.





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