I wrote this poem at the last open mic I attended in Chicago. I wanted to perform but I had nothing with me, so I wrote it at the last minute.<\/p>\n
11\/17\/06<\/em><\/p>\n There are things surrounding me I’ve got dusty books and candy bars in wrappers, This path used to be silent, I told the universe I could, What will always be you to me, you: I wrote this poem at the last open mic I attended in Chicago. I wanted to perform but I had nothing with me, so I wrote it at the last minute. 11\/17\/06 There are things surrounding me Pizza boxes and…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-957","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/sholeh.calmstorm.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/957","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/sholeh.calmstorm.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/sholeh.calmstorm.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sholeh.calmstorm.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sholeh.calmstorm.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=957"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/sholeh.calmstorm.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/957\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/sholeh.calmstorm.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=957"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sholeh.calmstorm.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=957"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/sholeh.calmstorm.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=957"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nPizza boxes and old records
\nmovie ticket stubs and museum passes.
\nThere are so many things,
\nso many past lives, or maybe
\njust my past life,
\nthe people I tried to leave behind.
\nMy feet are buried in the trash can contents
\nand I’m trying desperately hard to be content.<\/p>\n
\nscratched cds and sorry-looking teddy bears.
\nI never thought to wade into the past,
\ninto my soul.
\nMy sole purpose was shocking myself into action,
\nto push myself into submission.<\/p>\n
\nthese ways used to be mine alone and I struggled
\nto get home.
\nI am up to my knees in my past life,
\nof our lives built together,
\neach and every one fills a trash can.<\/p>\n
\nthat I would and was willing.
\nI told the world my soul was strong
\nbut that my heart was not ready.
\nI told this city I was ready to leave and
\nthank God that I finally listened to me.
\nI told you everything, I told her the stories in my life,
\nand he listened with everything in his being.<\/p>\n
\nthis street, this place on the corner,
\nthe convenience store that sells Indian food
\nin Little Italy.
\nThe pieces of places and the peace I found
\nwhen I finally moved home.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"