say daddy

rainy midnight

in his tenth summer

he is awakened again

by the fighting

and the screams.

the man who taught

him to say daddy

has stumbled through

the door with a head

full of what his mom said

was a poison.

he has heard his mom cry

too many times

and has hid under the covers

shaking in fear

so many nights.

but it’s his daddy

so he feels guilty for wondering

when the poison

will finally kill him.

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.

put your shoes back on.

this place isn’t holy

and your soul is safe here.

this ground isn’t sacred.

the dirt is just stained with the blood

of many a man, believing

himself a patriot

because his leaders

told him so,

fought and died

to make you believe

it is worthy of your honor.

those men giving orders

are not counting the bodies

piling up.

they are counting the dollars

these wars drop

into their waiting hands.

freedom is free.

Writing & Appreciation

I’ve had this blog for not quite a month now. I’ve posted 65 things. (Let’s call them poems for now.) I have more drafts than I do posts. I’m holding on to them like children in a busy parking lot. I’m afraid to let go.

Writing isn’t always easy. Even when you finish something, you have to build up the courage to share it. I feel like a child screaming, “Hey, look what I did!” after posting something new.

I’m just rambling about this process. But, my destination is: I really do appreciate each and every one of you who chooses to follow me and/or read anything I write. Thanks!

unsent letter to a departed friend

i can’t believe

it’s been eight years.

if you were here

i would tell you

that i’m sorry

for being late

to your funeral.

i was making out

with a girl

and lost track of time.

i would also tell you

that i’m sorry

i refused to be a pallbearer.

i did that not because

i didn’t love you

but because i loved you

so much.

i want to remember you

as something else,

not a weight

in my hands

i helped carry

from one place

to another place,

but a friend who just left

for a long vacation.

i hope your journey

went well

and you are fine

over there.

i miss you.

p.s. i married the girl.

we named our son after you.