We all wanted that high school sweetheart
We wanted to be young and white in the fifties with meatloafs and sock hops
and lawns so perfect they looked like Clark Gable was kissing them

We wanted to be thirteen and alive and meet a girl that was thirteen and alive
and walk with her past the grandstands
to sit and hold hands with to sit and kiss with to sit and sit with like it was something that you’d have missed but that never was

We once wanted to be poor but not too poor
connecting this country like Kerouac and thumbs
pulling small town waitresses in the back seats and trailer park homes
where the two of you would find passion expanding
between the locking of your bones
until morning would come to find you out on the road
with your pockets empty except for your hands
but your hands they’d be overflowing with your soul
but that’s not what happened

We once went to bed like between the bed sheets were the valley where dinosaurs still breathed
and how we would capture these
triceratops and brontosauruses
but even he was opened up with the smoke that rose out of the homes and the corners that we once climbed through,
with the streets and the footballs which we once threw,
the school desks upon which we once drew,
the windows that sat open through we once flew,
before the outside world of parking spaces and dead friends came flooding on in
and we forgot what we wanted
and we became what we become: waitresses and bartenders, city employees and temp positions, we are junkies and one kiss poems and we cry the stars
as we write our scars onto dumpsters
and electric boxes
because the only thing that we can hear is our hearts
and the only ones listening are the streets
to the blood that breathes through the letters we leave
and we dream that we try to rise ourselves up out of these burning buildings
but instead get buried somewhere beneath
because I know my life is like some high school kid’s notebook
that kid that shuffles back and forth between school and home
stacking the letters and the pictures
too close for anyone outside of his own imagination to read
because it’s through the ink that his heart beats
that his heart breathes

And we all just wanted to just wanted to write these notes:
check if you like me check if you don’t
check if you’ll date me check if you won’t
because we all wanted the love songs to be true
and did love dinosaurs once
and we wanted the stars
to hold our hands to lick the teeth to fuck us
but they end up fucking us

So let your smile twist
like my heart dancing precariously on the edge of my finger tips
staining them as that same high school kid
licking his thoughts using his sharpie tip
I was here motherfucker
and ain’t none of y’all can write that in the spot that I just wrote it in
I am here motherfucker
and we all here motherfucker
and we all motherfuckers motherfucker
because every breath I give brings me a second closer
to the day that my mother may die
and every breath I take takes me a second further
from the moment she caught my father’s eye
because every word I carry is another stone to put into place
in the foundation that I’m building to erase the days
and help erase something I never saw:
what all of us wanted and what none of us got
what we all had and have and what we all forgot
that we all wanted to be something
that we all became something
and it might not be the shit what we once thought it’d be when we were kids
but something is still something
and like some cats say
something’s better then nothing
feet are smarter than an engine
and dreams are stronger than thighs
and questions are the only answers we need
to have to know that we’re still as alive as the time when I held the mind of a child
asking why is 2 + 3 always equal to 5?
Where do people go when they die?
What made the beauty of the moon? And the beauty of the sea?
Did that beauty make you did that beauty make me?
Will it make me something?
Will I be something
Am I something?
And the answer comes:

I already am
I always was

and I still have time to be.

Anis Mojgani, “Here Am I” (via hiddenshores)

(via hiddenshores)