“Full-time” is a concept I never really thought about, even as I was applying it to myself or people around me. Like being the Old person in the room, no one needs to discuss. Maybe it’s because today we’re blessed with Life Rules: Doing anything that gives you money at least 40-hours in a week = full-time. Parents not working, and instead solely focused on raising kids = full-time. Going to school at least 12-credit hours = full-time. Whatever you do full-time with your life is supposed to be important. It takes a portion of your daily potential, concentrates it…
I wrote this poem to capture the general feeing I have going into writing essays for scholarships for next year. Trying to brainstorm just leaves my skull feeling sticky and weird….
3 people found dead near I-25 and Broadway last week were killed by gunshots, Denver coroner says Everyone wants Turn up at compassion Left out from the check list prayer before bed Danger streets awake at night Sleeping through the safety of day Still not safe Thinking about my empty garage The empty spaces in my lawn Inherited pots remind me Stew, chili, soup High yield routine compassion Ladled out While I eat $3 yogurt Caring more because the bodies People found 500 ft. off my light-rail stop
“So yeah, I’d like it if my obituary mentioned that I’m a Kentucky Colonel.”
I’m not sure if coincidences are special of if I just don’t talk to enough strangers to know if they’re common.
Immigrant. Transplant. It’s important to remember that we’re all human with our own histories and struggles beneath the buzzwords and labels.