Friends that just aren’t right

The people around me are potheads. 


Where harsh lines meet slated ones,

Grass worn down by sneaker soles,

Cement blocks meant to indulge less-than-legal habits.

The smoke leaves their mouths, 

Lips meet these clouds 

Which should have been green. 

The wind blows downward, saving me from the smell,

I watch the waste spiral, down, down, down.

Their eyes dilate.


The wind rips through me, 

They become numb to the bleak surroundings,

And I cannot feel my hands;

Their frosted tips are turning white.

Knees bent forwards in some twisted prayer,

The stamped-down grass hearing my sermon 

As I wonder how I got to this cement block,

Watching others lose their minds while I keep mine.

Was it the full promises in my youth?

Knees scraped from climbing trees, head full of all the things I could do, not bogged down by limitations.

Was it the halfback designs made years prior,

Where I felt I could only be my best in a small environment, only to be surrounded by those who did not care about my best?


Insecurity gripped me in a chokehold, and loneliness was an old coat that I was desperate to donate. 

Was it that ill-fated relationship that held me back, 

Staying in place while he had backups he never mentioned? 

I only ever had one plan, even as I bragged about the non-existent many, 

So the crushed grass has become my temple 

And those around me my burden, 

I know with certainty I am learning lessons, but the lessons I needed were between me and my confession box. 

The people around me are potheads, 

Losing their minds to the sky, 

And I am the dreamer,

Giving my hopes to the earth.