Yellow Crayon

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I know why you kicked against bone
And keep closing doors
Since forever you’ve felt 
The taste of that disdain
The smell of this fear
Your young mouth too green
To know the right words
To ask it to end
So you’ve kicked against bone
And you keep closing doors
I read yellow ink
It’s a gift that I have
Put down your crayon kid
We’re on our way home

Altitude

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I fall asleep
With windows open
And curtains blowing
You’re next to me
Soothing these sheets

I want the way 
Your special air 
Wafts ‘cross my skin 
And weaves itself 
Down through my lungs

My life with you 
Brings deeper laughs
Plus lines as proof 
I’m closer to 
The sky and Sun

I’m forced by you 
To train harder
Commit longer
Wear certain shoes 
And gaze further

I’ll let you in 
And lay you down 
And sing to you 
With clarity
Brought only from
Up here on high

Mickey

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Now feels slow.

And what say you?

Will you be letting me walk right up and peer inside the expanse of your wide windows, all at a snail’s pace to learn?

Are you actually relaxing in there?

I drive reckless at times. 

But straight enough to read your billboards on the road. They scream to me Talk Me Down, Category 5, Whirlwind At Work. 

How many feathers need I blow?  

And in what direction? 

May I help calm your soul, pull you safely inside where, at the very least, you can put back on the gloves?