Poem

Submitted by Bill St. Clair on Sun, 22 Apr 2018 01:21:11 GMT  <== Gloryroad ==> 

by George Potter

I'm healing up
and dealing
with sweet
traumatic
history:
I did time,
lost weight,
didn't eat right,
stopped fights,
got my heart broke.
(I always get my heart broke)
Drank way too much
fucking beer,
and moonshine,
and cheap vodka.

Had
A
Fucking
Blast.

Got to see
adopted daughters in prom dresses,
my newborn cousin Zane,
and take him on his
first weed run.
(It was so sweet)
Get shitfaced on a porch
with three generations
and talk shit
and laugh my ass off.
Cried a bunch,
over dead Aunts
and the never to be.
Bathed in the river
of who I am
and what made me.

I
Can't
Wait
To
Go
Back.

Because I was with
my family,
(some are not blood, still family)
and when I'm there
I act like a native,
I act like family,
There I can
be who I really am:
Outlaw and hero,
cousin and brother -
true names spoken only.
We are more than a family,
We're a crew,
a tribe,
a nation.
A fucking free country.
The last free people
to walk this planet.

The
Distributed
Republic
Of
I
Don't
Give
A
Fuck.

Add comment Edit post Add post