We forgive our heroes, because they are our heroes.
And I forgive you for your complexities both good and bad.
And I'm standing tall now.
Have you forgotten who you are?
I know who I am and always have.
But despite my lack of pride I am hopefully in mind.
Getting back to the center of things.
We all fall down and rise again.
Today I said my team got hit.
By who, they asked.
Did they get hurt? No they hit us.
Are we playing capture the flag.
Only if it's me and you.
Otherwise view my disdain.
Who are you? I ask again.
Happy and hopeful suddenly suits me.
Sullen and sinister get the boot.
And I'm playing cards in crazy eights.
Bother us and we're suddenly gone, before you could start in.
Got me a kite?
And I flew it to the moon.
You wanted to go to, but you're wrong I am not the kite.
I've been playing stunt kites from the ground up.
I read a poem I wrote when I was 12 today and I realized I've been doing this for a long time.
The unsung heroes of our generation don't inspire me.
Because they are silent among us.
Trial and error and we're back on the road.
I can see myself writing in the mirror and I look content and even smile.
I once thought I hated being alone.
But more and more I cherish it just as much as being with other people.
And I find myself wondering if someone somewhere is jealous of me, alone with me?
That sounds conceited to me.
But I thought it and since this is where I SAY the unsaid I own it.
And well I find myself having thoughts I adore.
And some I hate, for sure.
I want to quote a poem I wrote in fifth grade: Rose
The rose when felt is so silky.
It's pink is the color of satin.
But sweet though the rose can be, its thorns can really sting.