the warmth of charcoal

weed

after being smacked in the face
with a bunch of bullshit . . . repeatedly
mind clouded up
too much to pick apart
don't want to ~ don't have to
when it gets too deep
I close off ~ stare off
and recall number eleven grief
that speaks my name
calls me back to the center
where it all stays real
and I see wheelchairs
and hear thoughts
that sound like my own voice
forever embedded
like rock walls & steps
and future swings on
empty poles
put into the ground
by huge muscles

justam

You can't expect people to suddenly break their pattern
just because you're involved
why should they?
why be surprised?
why take it personally?
people are themselves
over and over again
they are finding themselves by repetition

Jamal

cool
I especially like the middle part
it is well written
thanks