This is for the fat girls
This is for the little brothers
For the Former prom queens
And for the milk crate all players
This is for the schoolyard wimps
And the childhood bullies that tormented them,
Shake the dust.
This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them.
This is for the bus driving a million broken hymns
And for the men who have to hold down three jobs imply to hold up their children.
For the nighttime scholars
And for the midnight bike riders trying to fly,
Shake the dust.
For the two years old who cannot be understand because they speak half English and half god,
Shake the dust.
For the girl whose brother is going crazy
For the gym class wallflowers
And for the twelve years old that are afraid of public showers
For the kids who's always late to class because he forgets the combination to his locker
For the girls who loves somebody else,
Shake the dust
This is for the hard men who want love but know that it won't come
For the ones who are forgotten
For the ones who are told speak only when you are spoken to
And then are never spoken to
Speak every time you stand
so you do not forget yourself
Do not let one moment go by that doesn't remind you
That your heart, it beats 1000 times a day
And that there are enough gallons of blood
To make everyone of you oceans.
Do not settle for letting these waves that settle
And for the dust to collect in your veins
This is for the celibate pedophile that keeps on struggling.
For the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacation alone
For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jaggers' singing lips
And for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner's shaking hips
For the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.
This is for the tired and for the dreamers
For those families that want to be like the Cleavers with perfectly made dinners
And songs like Wally and the Beaver
This is for the bigots,
For the sexists,
And for the killers
And for the big house pin sentenced cats becoming redeemers
And for the springtime that somehow seems to show up right after every single winter.
This is, this is for you.
Make sure that by the time the fisherman returns you are gone
Because just like the days I burn at both ends
And every time I write, every time I open my eyes
I'm cutting out parts of myself simply to hand them over to you.
So shake the dust
And take me with you when you do for none of this has ever been for me
All that pushes and pulls
And pushes and pulls
And pushes and pulls
It pushes for you.
So, grab this world by its clothespins
And shake it out again, and again
And jump on top and take it for a spin
And when you hop off shake it again.
For this is yours, this is yours
Make my words worth something
Make this not just some poem that I write
Not just some poem like just another night that sits heavy above us all
Walk into it, breathe it in, let it crash through the halls of your arms
Like the millions of years of millions poets
Coursing like blood, pumping and pushing
Making you live, shaking the dust
So when the world knocks at your front door
Clutch the knob tightly and open on up
And run forward and far into its widespread, greeting arms
With your hands outstretched before you
Fingertips trembling, though they may be.
