28/104: Poverty, who will survive?

Today, I said,
"things aren't always the way they should be."

I believe that, I mean, I must.
I said it.

The mere statement, spoken without a second thought,
took me aback.

I am living a fucking cliche,
in the worst way.

27/104: A dedication of sorts

Sometimes a girl might get lonely.
That girl, well, her bones just might break
because of grief;
brittle little sad bones
white with surrender.

Her nose might bleed.
The pain and the war,
it just gets to be too much.
And then, naturally,
there becomes no love left.

Harpsichords eat up the background
while the girl becomes magnolias.
No one listens.

26/104: Far from you.

You sat still.
(Except for your hands and feet.
They moved with intention, and more importantly,
grace.)

My heart blew down the walls as you sat there,
bathed in light,
singing.

You made me remember that I used to know you,
but somehow, this day, I don't.