It was hard
It was hard
Easy to want to give up
Easy to go back down
You lent me support
You showed me a way
I made it
What happens to a dream
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
— Langston Hughes
Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.
It is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable.
It is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made
and why they go away.
— Carl Sandburg, Poetry Considered
I call out!
Are you going to sit and watch me,
As if I don't exist in the world.
Everyday I call out to you,
My bones are wasting away, am dying of hunger,
Am dying of poverty and you, you,
You, act like I don't exist.
Maybe a day in my shoes would evoke those feelings you try to hide.
I need you to reach for me,
Where I cannot.
I need you to make me feel I exist,
Before I become lunch to the walking, flying or crawling.
I need you raise your voice and tell me that I am worth it.
I may be born this way but,
Do I have to remain this way?
Do you hear me cry?
Because I need you to wipe the tears.
Do you hear me call you?
Because I need you to answer me.
Do you feel what I feel,
Because only then can I mean something to you.
"VP of sales, employee of the year,
potty-trained at 18 months —
very impressive CV."
Understanding means seeing that the
said in different ways is the same thing.
— Ludwig Wittgenstein
In my life, I've met many people.
Why do I, still feel, so alone.
In a world, with so many people.
Why am I, sitting here, all alone.
Walking past, go so many people.
How I wish, that I was, safe at home.
Looking out, at all these people.
Do they all, feel just, as alone?
— Dean Thorpe.