Taken from Amtrak’s Keystone, approaching Philadelphia’s 30th Street Station.
August 25, 2019
From the bottom you can prove a great birth.
Running through your city; love after one step, I made it look pretty.
But it’s my struggle—so be it I’ll run past constitutions so empty; a statue of past times stating misery.
Yeah they were here, imputing rules for blissful fools, as if we’d get here to continue the unfair.
By day one my detector alerted me we’re in a world of cruel shit.
The best ones fail in front of many, the magnificent don’t give a shit.
The move after failing plan one; unthink to figure out plan two, and the third becomes a beast of a nerd.
Creating the new from views of a bird,
Eye’s gawk as the voice in them churns.
Creating the unreal story you can’t converge.
I’m no poet, yet, but the inspiration in me turns—somehow rhyming so I run to calm my nerves.
I’m no writer, but the words create a story—of brotherly love and how pain’s the cousin of glory.
Don’t believe me?
Just watch as I unthink at this poetry.
Leading me astray as people think low of me.
I’ll meet you there as Kane wasn’t Abel, you see?
How we compare is how you’ll see my story.
Watering rocks in faith as life gets blurry.
Heartbreak writer, she’s no longer my worry.
Never label me; I may not be educated enough to speak so freely.
Hiding behind labels for recognition?
I’ll let anxiety be.
When to stop is the pot calling the kettle to drop.
Keep judging your brother Budd, 2021 is when book one’s dubbed.
From love—it’s the unseeable language, ‘in words we trust.’
Thank you, Philadelphia; this poem’s from a hot Philly run.
You read, I’m pleased.
And each word I’ll leave,
In peace for ease.
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