There’s a man
Going around
Passing out promises
Gold and silver too
But the success
Never reaches down this far
No,
They won’t follow you down
And every woman I know
Works harder than two men
And they love
And they bleed
And they sew up our needs
And like Cash said
“When the man comes around”
Well, they won’t follow you down
So we fight
And we survive
Even when our paychecks
Barely make it through
What else are we to do
The silver and gold
Doesn’t come down this far
But they pass it around
With promises too
But they won’t follow you down
—-///
And I
I can’t write
My head is filled with clouds
I try to sit
But I can’t breathe
I watch the colour in the trees
And I think
About the dumpster on the side of the road where we used to get shoes and we used to get books…
And I think
About time
I hope I’ve used mine
Well
I think about the old man
Who lived in a school bus
And had a teenager for a wife
Her eyes said she had escaped something worse
A sort of curse
But I was too young to understand
Now, I think as I try to write, what good am I? What good am I?
If we can’t listen
If we look away
What good am I
And what good have I done …
A clouded head is part of Crohn’s
Just like the ache in the bones
The shouting stomach
The anxiety and the depression
I write about it but I can’t talk about it
And you’ll never see it
I guess
We all are just stories in the end
And we want what we want
And we say it sets us apart
And we expect others to know
But part of us stays on the road
Because even we don’t know…
And all we have is time…
Regarding Samuel 