Dry Tribe

poetry.

drybones

It’s so hard when you’re the backbone.
Who can u cry to, if u ain’t got no eyes?
Somehow, tears squeeze their way outta da backbone, proud and fine.
That backbone covered up by a coat, so no one sees him crying.
He been taught tears mean spineless,
And he’d cease to exist. but right now damn all dat.
Drops of salty eye water itching to fall from what he doesn’t have.
Cuz his bones are dry.
And who can make nation out of dry bones?
Somewhere up in the sky,
For heavens sake, a little bone moving inside of a back.
a little bone moving, dancing
And that is his rain dance for eyes.  this backbone would cry!
Cry for his seven grown kids
And his lovely ex-wife
Only if he could relive the year two thousand and five.
He would have bent a little to see life from all sides, not be rigid and unmovable.
His own actions booted him.

Two Cents, anyone?

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