Please scratch.

The back of my brain's got an itch.

Remind me again, it's getting better.

 

I work. I go to school. I play.

I read books and I know things.

It hardly matters.

 

I remember when I was little, sitting on the side door steps wondering and wishing and I was worried. My chin slumped and I hummed out loud a song about a horse. I twanged the guitar parts with my tongue and I waited on those steps forever. I waited forever. To this day, when I hear that song, I feel so alone. But I remember how good I felt when I finally saw your face. Your face finally. And forever didn't seem so long after all.

 

I wonder how or if at all a tree feels. The wrinkled bark apparent and wise speaks to me when I touch it. And underneath, hidden and dark, tender root footings blink at an earth age and dance to my drum beat footfalls. Could it land, I would have my soul visit a place in a tree to finally grow slow and wonder how or if at all a human feels.

 

Please scratch.

The back of my brain's got an itch.

Remind me again, it's getting better.

 

I work. I go to school. I play.

I read books and I know things.

It hardly matters.