4.10.17

Waiting in April for Christmas lights

like how our mothers wait for us to call.

.

What did they do wrong to spawn sons

like we? who’ve lost

the courtesy to pay back our debts

for the sacrifice performed on our behalf,

which we never asked for, true.

.

We don’t ask for blessings yet they fall on us like rain, like light, like hellfire.

.

We are the blessed youth.

.

We are the stampede of ignorance trampling our

mothers’ horrified faces. We know how

simple

it is

to show

we care,

and yet we don’t.

.

Apathy is warm soup, comfort for the soul.

.

Believe.

.

Dear Mother,

forgive, accept, embrace.

I beg you.

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Written at 10:13 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA, about ready to go to sleep. Tired, tired, tired.