If I were to write out my story in a poem what lyrics would pour forth. Would my words be beautiful? Would my mind sing silence? Or would it bleed with the depth and ferocity, like the soul of a Langston Hughes poem.
I am so many things
Intangible elements of miscellaneous glory
Only tangible to me
Pieces of sunshine
That got captured in a snapshot of beauty
Memories of things that once were
And that never were
My soul runs like the river
My essence echoes with time
I am poetry
Played to the tune of my heart’s most glorious memory
I still ache
I remember him
I remember them
Is friendship more than an idealist dream?
And as I daydream of my own reality
I ask out loud
If you cut me
Will I not bleed?