Brisk fall night with a blusterous storm of leaves.
Walking down the streets of Chicago.
Bright lights shine down on you through the night.
Wrapping yourself warmly in your coat from that small breeze.
A house, hushed and darkened, cold and alone.
The bare desk and empty chair.
No lights. No love. No hope.
Lamp awaiting to shine down on your paper and pen
for you to write again.
Stories and poems, letters to be sent.
Through alley ways and parks.
Different men, different cars, a different world.
Your head in his lap, his hand up your shirt.
The dreams and goals you have; to fail.
Selling your body to buy your addiction.
With a man somewhere who cares.
Loves you for you.
To be your house and your blanket,
keeping you safe and keeping you warm.
To be your paper and your pen,
writing all your beautiful thoughts down again.
To take your hand and show you the world.
If it is what you want, you can have,
just do not let go of his hand.
But if you may, be on your way.
At the corner is where you stand
and in the alley way, you reach out your hand.
When it comes, turn on your light
and yet again you will begin to write.
A little throwback to when I was sixteen. I will forever be grateful for my creative writing/poetry teacher. He built my confidence in my writing, called me a modern version of Edgar Allen Poe and saw so much potential in me. I stay humble with my writings and am always open to constructive criticism as well as growth. Sometimes I think I wrote better ten years ago than I do today, but I keep pushing. I never knew exactly where my inspiration and poems came from, but as I read this, I interpret it completely different from when I was younger—
—Sometimes we experience traumatic events and lose ourselves throughout our lives. Before we lose our innocence, become peer-pressured and get sucked in by society, we have dreams, talents and a purpose. The devil dances in disguise; you ever notice everything that is fun and feels good is bad for you? Those same feel goods distract you from those very dreams and talents we possess. Every person is born with a purpose, only if we all could figure out what that purpose is, this world might be a little different. Some of us like to dance with the devil a little too much and can’t figure out who we are, but fortunately enough, with a little prayer, and a conscious mind, I never strayed too far. This poem explains exactly that. Whatever it is you go through, your purpose in life will always be there, you just have to find yourself and remember those dreams and talents you once had; think back to when you were innocent and remember what was important to you. It is never too late to learn who you are and love yourself.
“so don’t slip, don’t fall
just a get a grip…, hold on
don’t lose your balance…”