the walls that we build . work well, keeping others out . and locking us in
there is no such thing . as a boring task, only . how it is perceived
there are some mornings . when just opening the blinds . is all that’s required
blending memories . our history comes alive . a work of fiction
often what is seen . is the shadow that is cast . by reality
the past is alive . in the memories we hold . precariously
in reading someone’s . expressions, we learn about . our own perceptions
someone decided . and the rest of us agreed . to live in a box
to the outside world . thinking and wasting time look . exactly the same
scars change the surface . but not what lies underneath . where new growth happens
uptown jack 