The smoke from the tip of my cigarette pencils an abstract art on the air.

I remember childhood like it was yesterday, 

the sky was divided into a bright pink and a tranquil blue,

it looked like a childhood filled with playgrounds, and playing hero

I felt innocent, when I was a child,

when I laughed and played.

 I can barely remember what it feels like

to laugh,

to not be burdened,

to have happiness pass by, stop, see my body, and step inside,

so I can feel all right,,

I yearn for that day but all I get is night

a cold moon instead of the warm sunlight,

it just doesn’t feel quite right.

Like I’m a rooster posing as an owl

I am born to crow at the rising sun,

but I’m so lost that when the moon is out all I cry is who?

Who have I become?

Who thinks of me as great?

Who will hear what I have to say?

Some poems are depressants

like I’m a pharmacist who’s drugs are words.

Once I watched my friends souls pass me by in a hearse.

Tell me what’s worse,

to stand in a church and curse?

or to never speak of what hurts?

I will not let my soul die,

it’s ok everything is going to be all right.

I used to keep my head in the clouds 

so they nicknamed me the kite.

one day when the string breaks I will sail away,

off to find some other place to play.