Designated Doodler

I am convinced that I am truly weird. At ten years old I was watching JAG and building model F-14's. I daydreamed endlessly and wished that my artistic skills could be capable of depicting them. I'd hide in my room, playing James Taylor and imagining alternate endings to the television shows I had become obsessed with. Legos, Barbies, Playstation and Basketball were great, don't get me wrong. But I was happiest when I was nestled atop the tree in our backyard, watching the sunset. I loved books, music and sports like most kid's my age. But I never felt like most kids my age. I felt truly weird... because I was. The things that they worried about - I didn't. And the things they never even considered - were the things that I worried about. Even now, as a teacher, I have yet to meet a student who is anything like me. And it makes me wonder if there is anyone out there like me. Keenly aware. Cautious. Extroverted. Anxious at times. Strongly grounded in my

Your skin is a series of scars A storybook of abuse, written in fractures and breaks Everyday you wake up and wonder what it would take To gather your soul and move from this place It's a long walk And you can't breathe With the dust caked in your lungs And dried tears crusted in your eyes Floundering beneath the weight of fermented lies And the bag of broken hopes strapped to your spine Somewhere along the line You forgot what it was to be fine It's easy to step into the abyss Beneath the burning Iowa sun What makes it simple is that You're no one's son It gets old Visiting your father's grave on your birthday Coming up with good enough lies to say To an angry drunk stepfather Or a way to beg along a dirt road For a brother who's running away But the day that Danny was killed Was the moment you knew you couldn't stay With every single step Comes a flash of an indelible, unbearable past... Daddy's cherry red car slipping