especially special

@snapshotsteve

—

i think life’s easier when you stop thinking you’re special.

especially when you are

especially when you’re so undeniably special
that the world would need to rotate one trillion times
before producing someone like you.

especially when you’re so special
that you can maintain a sense of self
after death, and heartbreak, after cruelty of man.

especially when you’re so fucking special
that god takes the time to speak to you
in moving colors and shifting sounds.

listen around, listen to it

you are so fucking special
that none of us are;
no one can put their finger on your worth,
you were special from birth–
from the moment you stepped on the earth
with dirt tucked in-between your toes
and your lungs filled with sky blue.

you
need to do us a favor, please:

stop thinking you’re special;
life will be easier for the rest of us.

—

“especially special”
©Steven Cuenca

Haiku XX

—

summerlove loose shirts

summerlove be happy pudge

summerlove be joy

—

©Steven Cuenca

almond halves

—
maybe i’ll live longer
for every knuckle i crack,
for every almond i crack
in half
with my teeth
perfectly.

maybe i’ll live longer
for every hair i rip out of my nose–

who knows?

maybe i’ll live longer
for every tackle i land,
for every time i stand
for pregnant women on the subway,
for every time i bow my head
and say amen in sync with white voices.

maybe our choices don’t mean shit.
maybe we git what we git
and there’s no life after this, after that.
maybe all the almonds i cracked
were in vain.

maybe i’m insane.

maybe it’s just a game
and we win with paper and pen
and pretty thoughts to paint;
hope they outlast us.
hope they’re so good
they won’t remember the past us,
and we become eternal letters
bounced back and forth
by aliens and feathered
angels.

maybe i’ll live longer,
but i’ll be stuck in the dirt,
and my arms and legs will be roots
of an almond tree.
and i’ll be showing my teeth
as the almonds fall
split split split them in half
perfectly,
so that the flat sides are smooth
against my tongue.

feeling young,
but dying to feel forever.
—

“almond halves”
©Steven Cuenca