sometimes
i love
with all
my open spaces.
sometimes
i wish
i could bullshit
my way to heaven.
sometimes
i prepare
myself
for a revolution.
sometimes
i think
my heart
has a mind
of its own.
sometimes
the road to
good intentions
is under construction.
sometimes
i cry like hell.
sometimes
my truest thoughts
are written across
my forehead,
my eyes are mouths,
shouting.
sometimes
i really
don’t
want to talk
about it.
really.
sometimes
academically adept people
irritate
my street wise
senses.
sometimes
love is like a salesman,
who goes from door to door,
waiting for someone to answer,
waiting for those three little words,
“okay, how much?”
