the kid who never got mail (crisscrossed legs)

you like to say.. “you’re just like me”, and I cringe and disappear hoping that even if you’re right, I can do better.. I couldn’t be a better enemy, not than you.. I think you call this care. you are dangerous

every few days you go away. I’m supposed to think with my blind mind, turned a blind eye, .. c’mon, the shower is easy and I know you ain’t acting right. I know it’s just because I ain’t nothing either.

“hey you, little man”,

“it’s cool”, he said.

he turned walking brisker…”hey”, his thoughts swing back to the white kid sticking his head out of the garbage can, quick feet, quick as that sharp whistle ran through his ears, through his feather patterned vision, blurred by tears, and the faint smell of wood.. dragging his hand across it again ..

“hey you, little man, … Where’s your coat?”

“ I don’t need the zipper”, he thinks … all the days leading up to the words written like code, words on your skin, welts on your thigh. ever since the day you ran those blocks running towards her only to be dragged into a scared place, the hatred and anger from someone like you, and let’s be honest.. it’s not like their mothers could change them into what your mother made you be. ..made you.. like only death could make us be