harvest home of strange change

looking around the room 

it is like the hand 

had a needle and thread 

at the ready

to patch the souls of the broken

sew through each heart 

form the connections that were needed 

as the needle 

pierced through 

blood spouted 

dripping off the thread

echoing the room with a




lines of caterpillar lights

shaped from city heights

street posts begging

striving to stay

in relevancy

with sentiments 

of unforgettable memories

damaged skin

peeling to patterns

uncoiling into future


living for first times

to try just about everything

but the first times here

have run dry 

that is half the fun

not knowing for what will become

grown backwards

have I because

i am not moving away from home

to move to a place like home

these nothing’s we know

are growing old

it is time 

leave everything behind

everything but the girl

who has stars on her skin

constellations on her face 

and the memory of the people

that try to read into

those mysteries

i like strange things

i like change of things

even now this is

a strange change

but I am not a stranger to change


it is time 

to harvest home

then go

i am going 

i am going

and then I am 


This poem is about: 
My family
My community


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