Zip Code Bruises

Location

You're always emergency room crisis, broken knuckles
Sometimes blood isn't always meant to be poetic, kid 
You keep betting your life, wishing against. what's the bid? 
The big pyramid scheme of existence
Tell me you don't hold people's hands the way you hold your guns
Tell me you're past this, done.
What's a couple more words on a page, son 

There are thoughts that stand at the roof of your mouth 
Jump into the tip of your tongue
And you want to be just like them 
Someone with rhythm, not hung
On the same thing, sprung
On the living room rug
Making it look more like a fire exit, a waiting room 

You're a crime scene without the caution tape 
Where's the search party at? 
you haven't been the same since the overdose, you say, you scrape 
Gape when they tell you you're a missing puzzle piece 
It's no wonder you think an ambulance siren is a song 
How long have you been carrying this war? 
Why does all the lonely keep calling you by your first name? 
Where's your guts? your will to speak?
tell me why all your words are drenched in rain 

Help yourself, Love yourself, Know thyself
 

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741