My apartment is so dark some mornings,
and this one is no exception.
Maybe what they said about me in grade
school all those years was true,
each time my peers referred to me as dark
and I had to clarify and tell them
I was just philosophical
and analytical when it came to emotions,
and they replied yeah dark.
Dark was the first thing I noticed this morning
when the sun hid behind some clouds.
Then again, how could I be a dark lord,
when I spend most of my work days
empowering disabled middle schoolers
and teaching them how to turn
hopeless feeling situations into hopeful ones
by simply changing one’s perspective
on failure, disability and obstacle?
Is it a nice sounding cover story I hide behind
to keep from scaring others with just how
vulnerable, chaotic and relative I enjoy being?
Maybe a little bit.
But aren’t we all just a little bit of everything
we think we’re not, given the funhouse of
It’s how I know what I really want is to
surround myself with a vortex of confusion
and melancholy, ride it up into the so-called
more certain, lighter and happy world, and then
touch down on each sad and dispirited shoulder
like a dying butterfly.