my first two chicago poems...

they're untitled, though, frankly, the ought to be called "what i do at midnight when i can no longer study, verses 1 & 2"

untitled 1
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while i was reading today,
it occured to me that maybe the root
of so much hurt in the world
is that we're all little children,
imperfectly looking for love.
and we've been dealt a raw deck
& it's what we choose to do wit that
that makes us foolish or wise,
friendly or forsaken.

because some of us got born
with parents who left bootprints on our hearts
or just left
or never really knew us to begin with.

and some of us gave our love to the wrong people
who laughed at our little candy hearts
& never gave us construction-paper hearts in return.

and some of us got born in places
where we could feel the hatred swirling around
but without really knowing that it came from
how we looked,
who we were,
what we lacked.

they say one of the perils
of psychology textbooks
is self-diagnosis,
which is why I'm sitting across from this little girl now
& when i say "hey kitten, what's life done to you
to make you look all busted-up and sad inside?"
she starts to cry -
big, fat, left-alone-on-the-playground tears

and then she whispered in my ear.
i'll never tell anyone what she told me tonight
but it's probably the best damn therapy
i've ever had.


untitled #2
-----------

since it's true that
the rain
falls on the just and the unjust,
that ought to mean
that everytime it rains,
i should look up at the sky
& ask myself
"who am i,
really?"

it's raining again today...