rearrangedletters

give, not receive

Written and submitted by rearrangedletters

met a man on the street yelling & passing out pamphlets full of promises waiting to be fulfilled if i will only give to him. tells me he’s a faith healer. “sounds great to me.”, I tells him. “my faith is nearly dead. but the irony is that it is because of people like you.” he walked away muttering about how i didn’t understand and I gave my last dollar to a homeless man.
finding home

dead stars fall

upon my head nightly

while i walk towards a home

i have yet to find


with heavy legs & heavy heart

i always collapse

beneath a burning sun

which never illuminates enough


shielding my eyes

i look to the distant horizon

scanning the fading shadows

my place is out there somewhere


and there are smiling faces

and welcoming arms

so i struggle to stand

and take another step forward

Unjust Justice

Written and submitted by rearrangedletters

My hands would not stop. They beat that man until he stopped moving. I had never harmed a living thing until that night. But that was my baby girl. I know she was 23 years old, but she was my baby girl and she had felt his fists enough for this lifetime and many more.

They gave me 25 years. Said I was not insane. I was just guilty. Said I was just full of rage. I don’t even remember anything after seeing his face and hitting it the first time. I probably shouldn’t have done it, but my baby girl and her little boy are safe now.

I spent my time behind those bars dreaming of the day I would walk down main street. But now as I sit here drinking this coffee alone, I just want to run far away. Too much time caged like an animal. Now I cannot act like a man.

Often I think about that place I called home for many years and I wonder who sleeps in the bunk I had. I wonder if they see the name I carved in that metal. That is my baby girl, mister. I say to myself. She moved away from here and never calls me. But I love her.

I guess I’m not human anymore. Once you force the life out of another man’s body, people don’t see you like they see other people on the street. I think sometimes of committing a few more small crimes. Not to hurt people. No. But just enough bad stuff so I get another chance at feeling “normal" again like I did behind those walls.

But I’m too old I suppose to be acting that way now. My choices seem to be dying much like I am. I can wake up early and drink this cheap coffee by myself, or I can sleep late and putter about this huge apartment. These days I mostly just sit here on the outside, looking in.
day one again

Written and submitted by rearrangedletters

day two in a new city bursting with faces & voices unfamiliar. i screamed myself to sleep at 4 a.m. while arguing with a shadow above this hotel bed that i swear looked just like the girl i left 300 miles behind me.

my head feels like a cavern people go to die in and i know the echoes will not stop soon, nor will this weary heart that mocks me with its off-beat rhythm.

i swim out slowly through the entrance doors past the other creatures staring with their orderly lives neatly packed and held tightly.

if that sun above doesn’t burn itself out soon, i just know that i will drop midstep before a crowd void of a person who calls me friend or lover.
here i am, there you go

i’m on a downturn here

on this uptown corner

three-piece success stories

glide by off the ground

elevated by the things

i dream of


today is wednesday

according to my calculation

but my math isn’t so good

because all i know is zero

i wish it was summer again

these streets are a cold bed


once i wore shiny shoes

and a smile to match

i wasn’t invisible back then

everyone wanted to be me

i try to laugh about that now

those same people still pass by


we all have our stories

no one tells me theirs though

because they would have to face me

to listen to my story too

and no one wants to be reminded:

everything is transitory