♥ of Gold

You say I have a heart made of gold

Then why is it not valued

…by you?

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Question

She

She wants me

She wants me to be

Silent

Which

Which I

Which I find it hard to believe

Because that’s not how she fell in love with me

No

She fell in love with the me fighting to grow

Past all the obstacle courses life threw my way

Until I grew my way

Into the person I deserved to be

Not that I wasn’t who I deserved to be, but it was that way that I deserved to be seen

And now you want me to put that away

Just so you can say you can ask for actions with nothing in the way

But I’ve got to say

We’ve come from the same place

Places where the bedsheets you lay down on could smother you

If you didn’t go about it the right way

Streets that held our defenses up, more than the come up of the average hustler on the block

So, no it could never take a lot to get us to proceed with caution

I just thought we’ve loved each other for so long and seen each other so often

That you would see me as being on the same side of the street

So, when I ask questions it’s with you, and not just for me.

No Home

Little boy

I remember you

Back in high school

Tall and lanky

Your goofish grin

Being black but sounding white

Kid’s didn’t know what category to put you in

Back then

But today is now

And I can’t seem to wrap my mind around how

You fell through the cracks

Of every social service system

As I watch you turn your back

Leaving a homeless shelter

To walk down the street

Looking just like you did in high school

More scraggly, but still meek

Though your grin is gone

Much like what must’ve been your support systems long,

Before you ever had the chance to figure out what navigating life was about

Now I watch you trying to get in, but left out

No home

Clothes

You roam

And no matter where you land, you bring clothes

Loads

You set them down

And to hang them up you loathe

Yet you complain that they’re there

The very mess you create

Is at what you hate to stare

But beware

Because no matter how many times you try to hide them, stuff them in closets, act like you don’t care

I am still there