Heart
My poems come from the heart because my soul lost its way,
My poems are written hoping that my soul could be found one day,
I sit across from myself writing poems on a mirror to a me I haven’t known since the second grade,
I don’t think I’ll ever see him again,
But I remember the way his smile radiated like sun rays,
Reading up and down the words we’d write away,
They were simple then, morse dots and dashes that weren’t legible anyway,
But it brought that kid a smile just to crayon some color to the page.
We use to just sit down for hours and waste time figuring out where to begin,
A purple crayon to anywhere we could go without pay,
A key to a door that would’ve opened if we’d had our say,
But days passed and that kid got older with time ticking away,
He traded his sweaters for hoodies and velcro for tied knots and cardigans,
His stars died out the back of his eyes,
He’d forgotten how to start again.
Walking through tall grass and broken glass,
Discarding pages of purple drawings in burning bins.
And all I can think of now is just-
Where I was when the changes started again.
My head was up in the clouds,
Down in my books,
Breaking my mental barriers with gnawed metal and dammed up brookes,
Its better than it looks.
My soul found that child down by the shore.
And now I’m here with my heart.
Wondering if they’ll ever visit.
Anymore.
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