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Storm Drain
Growing up my growth was rarely the result of
the lax humming of the constant cycle
a bumble bee of repetition
the beat of life slowly buzzing in my ear
In my life learning has happened the best between moments,
between boring lectures
and walks
where i didn’t know
where this whole thing was going to go
learning was seeing the scars of a broken jaw
and learning that not just bones
but people can be broken too.
learning was the chaotic crescendo of a needle
piercing more than just a soon dead body
a friend
It was the whales
screams
the eye watering shrieks
of an entire unknown bloodline
spilled out around me
like a can of unfamiliar wet paint that had flowed over
the weight of the added tears
slowly
dripping
streaking
staining
the carpet beneath,
a carpet already splashed more deeply
With the memories of another
a brother
leaving a mark
much thicker than that
salty wet paint ever could itself
The next learning was
learning to move on
realizing that pain is often just a aftershock of joy
learning to laugh
This learning was learning
to see myself and others everyday
through the black smoke
coming from the fingertips of glorified children
hobbled around a drainage ditch
like some kind of early morning running water
running all together to find itself a home
I’ve gone back to one daily moment in my head so many times
Walking behind the church behind that rough looking preschool
That overgrown path snaked behind our community out of sight
Twisted like a sick vein running through that part of our daily journey home
That pumpkin we smashed out of instinct
The constant barks
Not only from dogs but from adults who had seen themselves
In us
The daily idle threats of our bus driver who was rightly worried about my friends
“Hey next time i might have to call the cops these two can’t smoke on here”
This daily saying constantly greeted by a subtle nod
The simple daily acknowledgement that they’d grown not to care
On our walk home we were always
Welcomed by a subtle presession of misfits the ones that enjoyed the grime
That shaky railing finally falling like an exhausted soldier
That just couldn’t stand us anymore
growing up was learning to see past that smoke
those thick plumes
simply masquerading so many of the problems i saw those problems begging to
Dancing like shadows on the faces around me
many of most interesting people
ive met
Felt like they were simply living as conduits to their problems
Felt their whole lives diagnosed
each powerful emotion inscribed
as a mere symptom
a note to be left
sitting in a folder
somewhere in a dusty drawer
on a piece of perforated paper
without the heart
without the weight
and the reality
that words cobbled up by someone who has only ever
worn the word crisis as a title could never hope to explain .
Our own lives are defined not by our everyday actions but by the
unordinary things that happen despite our mundane lives only
you control your life:)
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This is a story about growing up and learning to become something you can call your own