Random acts of kindness

We usually wake up around 6 in the morning to open gifts. Mind you, my sister and I are both grown and it’s only my mom, sister and I which makes up my family. My mom was adopted as an only child. My father passed away in 2000 and though he has a few brothers and sisters, I wouldn’t know who they were if they slapped me in the face. Well I would but I wouldn’t. Its funny because according to social policy they are still family since blood is thicker than water but I think thats crap. My bestfriend is more family to me than any of them could ever be.

Anyway, none of us had the most money this season, all for different reasons, but the day was still a great one. I mean we exchanged gifts but it was seeing the look on their faces and just the feeling of sharing the day with them that made it worthwhile. That is the part that I think we lose sight of when this day rolls around. We are in search of the best gift, the most expensive gift, that we think will make someone happy. But, if you could remove the disappointment of not getting some new gadget that is overpriced and gaze into the sentiment, the outright emotion expressed in being in the presence of unconditional love, what gift can you buy that is better than that?

Random 2005

Ravin’

 I will never be a famous poet

I accept that now

My metaphors aren’t deep enough

I don’t look at flowers and call them lilies

Probably because lilies don’t grow where I come from

I don’t see snow and ponder the drops

Then again

I don’t see much snow

Down here

I don’t have a doctorate

Or masters

Or a bachelors for that matter

And no one is interested in giving me an honorary degree

I don’t fit the mold

Of a famous poet laureate

I’m not Black enough to start a revolution

I’m not oppressed enough to really care

I’d much rather watch Def Poetry

Than read WB Yeats

And that doesn’t bode well at all

I would take Poe over Frost any day

Even though I hate the Raven

And Poe’s ego trip afterwards

I do believe in his right to have an ego

Cause years after overdosing on opium

We’re still reading his pseudo psychotic

Tales of dead men’s hearts thumping in the night

Although I wish he had buried that man

Anywhere but the floor

Because maybe then

He wouldn’t have been reminded to feel guilty

Still, it was a good story

It just said way too much about Poe

And maybe that’s what scares me

I don’t need more people walking around in my head

 

©2005 Dew