Are we prisoners in our writing?
looking, for freedom painting the Portal
Not black but light bright.
Water spill on the floor makes a
Shape like squirrel in the night
Water spill in the night wants to come alive
3d is it's closest it's going to reach
Spider webs in the kitchen corner
Like utilitie poles it connects
String by string line by line
Like never ending but ended
Flesh and bones with a heart beat
Bobble heads like people at a Wendy's
Waiting for fate to appear with a smile
Magicians will want to know the secret
How/do/you/do/that?
A man wants to start a war with a tired
Looking woman who looks like she need
a jump start to start again
But the man maybe read her brain like a task
And provoked a fight
Said "yall women need to read the bible this is why the world is like this!"
My eyes blink the cashier in the front of the woman
Like robot "hi goodnight can I take your order".
Behind the glass like a mirror wish she could have seen past
Her self that's standing then into now. dealing with people like him
Behind the woman on the line
And how I predicted she/they probably offended, and him mad drunk looking man
How life gave him a
beaten too/maybe I don't know/
she maybe just tired from work and that man lit the fire cracker when it was
Not even new years yet/her the fire cracker/maybe it was her masculinity
That offended him because she looked like a lion in a shell to his eyes that was ready to tear him up alive maybe.
-ashes poetry
A/N
Everything in this poem I get inspiration from the things that basically happens in the real world around me,
this drunk man was trying to start a fight with this tired woman
so for some reason that inspired me to write this.
