Flashes of elementary school
When innocence was found on every swing set
And children worried not about the years to come
Or the love that would be learned and taught, subconsciously.
By their mothers, fathers.
Or about the lingering hatred quickly developing
Inside their little minds, for things they know not about.
When sober kisses would be like drawing a perfect circle with your left hand.
When friendship was hit or miss, depending on the demons inside of each other.
Staying at Chris' house on Wednesday afternoons,
talking about how lucky his last basket was.
We knew not about the emotion that was necessary to belong in a world like today.
Where Friday nights you are in a struggle with yourself about your own path, while wondering about the competition in the apartment all around you.
Where millions of boys give up everyday, disregarding what their father pleaded their first 8 years.
Ignorant cries of "this isn't fair".
Life isn't fair.
But we overcome. We take the lemons and produce a market of profit.
At least that is what we hope for.
(comment on this poem)