Concrete Clothespins

I listen 

to these kids 

(because most of them are kids)

swap exaggerations 

all day and all night 

they’re masculine facade 

their badass tough guy

filters in and out of 

air vents

because it’s that thin 

that see through 

that porous 

that viscous 

they talk prison 

they talk fights

they tough up 

and out 

and their little 

hearts shake 

like cot

grasshoppers 

every one of them 

would run if you said

they could 

their mothers know

they are not men

so they are faking

all the stage lighting 

so of course they worry

and dread for them 

they moan for them 

cry and weep for the boys 

they pray will one day be 

men 

(maybe)

I don’t intimidate them 

the smell and sight of godly confidence 

is evident to every man 

and woman

it’s something both fascinating 

and scary 

it lingers much longer 

settles in the pores of the temples

hides in the memory drums

and seeps forth 

hours on end 

why do you do this, to these children?

they’re scared as edgy antelope 

they need attention 

not concrete clothespins to hang by 

and dry 

I cry for them because 

they’re too scared to tell you

and themselves the

TRUTH.

and I cry for them because 

you’re too self absorbed to

HELP.

and I cry for you too because..

you’re lazy heart will cost you 

much dearer in the 

END. 

2 thoughts on “Concrete Clothespins

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