My dear boy
I know that
You feel like
A fly trapped
Inside a glass
Room trying to
Find its way
Out you can
See what’s over
There but you
Can’t reach it
One day you’ll
Either get used
To being inside
Or trust that
A window will
Crack and you’ll
Be set free
To buzz about
Happiness is found
In whispers not
Statements in a
Dish of food
Given of flowers
That bloom in
The morning of
Change found in
Pockets and old
Jokes repeated happiness
Isn’t found in
Others it’s found
Only there in
Your own words
And simple actions
I’d rather live
Life than save
It I’d rather
Run when I
Can love who
I will and
Fail every time
I don’t want
To save something
As precious as
Life for when
I am old
Let me live
Now crazy and
Expressive and true
To my self
Anyone seeking perfection
Is often disappointed
By their own
Greed see the
Beauty in blemishes
For there you
See their age
And then he
Asked what’s it
Like to write
Thinking I thought
That it’s this
In order to
Write you must
Understand the un-understandable
The things that
The people feel
But can’t say
So you say
Them for them
To write is
Simple you put
Pen to paper
Stand naked and
Wait for laughter
But instead you
Hear the ahhh’s
That is writing
