But sometimes you meet people
Who are made of other things
Who took nature into their hands and shaped themselves
I met an Skyscraper once
Looked up at their face and trembled at how small I felt
And discovered that I am afraid of gravity
Of countless windows and revolving doors
Of my own insecurity as their guards pat me down
Stone faces and cold reflecting eyes
There are Coffee Shops
Who always smell like early morning and late rainy nights
Whose skin and walls are covered with the works of local artists
Hung up behind dimly lit wide stage eyes
Conversations with them are like open mics
Filled with slam poetry and snapping fingers
While distant jazz murmurs bits of their history against my ears
Some people are Rest Stops
They treat themselves like way stations for passing faces
Their words disrupt their quiet contemplation
Like the soft buzzing of vending machines
On a hot summers day
Their faces always say, "Welcome"
While their bodies door says, "Exit"
And "Break In Case Of Emergencies"
Raves only open up at night
Neon sign eyes, black lights, glitter, and body painted smiles
They are the sleepless, the restless, the ones whose
Slurred speech pulls back the music and loud ring of voices
To reveal their truth
Little strobing stars wrapped around fragile bones
Still learning and yearning to make connection with themselves
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