Party, Serio, Infierno!

I shed two tears, glass makes opportunities. I remember reading a prison letter, a neighbor wrote to his mom and cousin. I absorbed it all in. I felt I had shoes to fill and I wrote my first poem for publishing. I didn't know I would publish, but I entered my poem online years later for small yet significant appraise. I noticed I liked writing poems. There was just something about the sadness; I embodied the juices I took from being in the real world. I carried it with me as a heavy medallion in front of my chest, not like a chip on my shoulder. I like the "young criminal" was now me type artist. I're grown up this way. I hold it deep in my heart. I don't remember the poem now. I have it bunched up like poem noodles in a styrofoam cup of heated debate. I ate it. I'm alive with it, I am free.