I want to tell you about my son

Because he’s really smart and he gets straight A’s

Because he’s an athlete and he’s funny and kind

I want to tell you about my son

Because he’s never said a curse word in front of his mother

Never come home drunk or high

Never punched a wall or driven too fast

I want to tell you about my son because he’s tall too tall for his age

Too big too strong too present

Because he’s too beautiful

He’s too young

His parents from and land of water and sun

But his skin is too dark

Someone will see him

Someone will notice

I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared

If something happens they’ll say he asked for it

He deserved it because he had something on him he didn’t have

Because he’s a bad kid and nobody knew

But I want to tell you now, none of it’s true 

Just in case

Just in case

Because I’m worried everyday

We’re worried every day

We’re tired every day

We’re angry every day

Angrier and angrier

So, I want to tell you about my son

Because he’s good and he’s kind

But even if he wasn’t

His skin isn’t reason enough

For him to die


Moto Poet:

Old Friends

Are friends,

And to aall of those friends,  you are just a friend. Any one of them. Today your best, tomorrow rest, and then a Judas’ friend.

For friends are not foes, nor foes your friends.  Time and wealth, love or pain, grief and hate, all or one, a mirage that turns to foe, a friend.

Are bad friends,

And from aall of those friends, you’re just a blink away, from foe to friend. Like a sheath is to a sword,  a sheath is to a dull blade… “Nipson anomēmata mē monan opsin

One knows that one is all to all, and all are all to one, the smile that shakes the hand, the evil grin of a knife at play. The tears. The Joy. Revenge

Are Machiavellian friends,

And of aall those friends, the one who’s meant to stay, will step away and claim your head…

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