Ode to ordinary
(This may not cut it, but I like it)
There’s no real reason for the questions and stares
I’ll give my confession with the utmost care
I love the sweet silence
And my afternoon walks
No drugs, sex, or violence
Just friendly little talks
None of those fast cars or strange worlds
No need for a revolving door of girls
You pity and you shame this ole life
I don’t have pain and I pass on the strife
Look at my face, ask why it’s turned up
Nothing says Grace like my wonderful luck
Just give me that mundane, simple, and bare
Oh, yeah baby, this is my ode to the ordinaire
About the Creator
Jay,when I write
Hello.
What?
23, Black, queer, yup
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Spectating
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford5 days ago in Fiction
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