The 5 fingered poem
likes to tickle down your back,
it holds your hand
and slaps your face
and points at the things you lack.
It humbles you
with its own words
In these times of broken dreams
where all it takes to make you smile
is to talk of the way things seem.
I like being here
with people like this
under stars that cant be seen,
like when that girls voice
broke my heart that night
and left me thinking of who she’s been.
It’s like we starve ourselves
for those perfect moments
and the last that follows next,
but for those times
where we share ourselves
we become those forgotten texts.
So I ask you all
on this night of voices
to join me and be free,
just close your eyes
and play a game
but remember what you see.
This is just the way we understand
and then say what’s on our minds,
The way we turn our heads
at such pretty girls
then breathe-out two different kinds.
You see, I am myself
when you’re at your best
and the eyes of life can see.
Those that hope
and those that pray
and those who still believe.
Why can we just be different
and touch what sets us apart?
Touch and heal and scratch those things
that are known for the way they start.
Now there’s more in what I’m saying
if you’ll agree there’s something there,
something that could be remembered
when the righteous don’t seem to care.
So just blaze your fire in the eyes of lust
and let the ashes fly around.
Just play the game
and know the rules
and be ready to hear the sound.
That sound that rings
and stings your heart
while the laughing voices judge.
Just let it feed you
when they try to bleed you
and smile like you’ve never budged.