I was walking down the hallways
the other day
at school,

wearing a green scarf.
Someone yelled Slytherin Scarf!
And I said no,

It was Celtic Green.
Turns out it was a Slytherin Scarf!

But what does it mean to be Slytherin?
I don’t know
Neither does my wife.
She is Gryffindor.

I think I am whatever the road less
traveled would be.
Bitches Brew?
Listen to Jazz.
Turn the radio off.
I am no Slytherin
I’m a kid on Ritalin
trying to get back in his skin again.
I am an anxiety-riddled queen, trying to get her kingdom to not overthrow her.
I am a magnificent animal,
wounded but glorious.

I am sick
but I have style.

I am lost,
and I am wild.

I am grown growling.
I am reminiscent of a lawn crying to be mowed.
But is mowed often.

I am a cold lozenge, I take when coughing.
And I am always coughing.
I am laughing but crying on my own island.
I am nothing but a lazy eye, slipped nipple.
I am Grafton Mass, I am Lake Ripple
where I grew up before I lost my little.
Where I grew up and that kid went missing.
Where the paths I walked were rocky for no reason.
Where I dreamed on my parent’s floor,
in a sleeping bag, with no nightmares,
No trouble sleeping.
Where I could feel nothing but air,
and I felt forever breathing.
Not drowning or feening for cigarettes or stealing stamps to write letters.
Does it feel better to reminisce knowing I am better/not better?
It does make me feel better knowing I maneuver this sea of paper, and write down my thoughts in linear fashion only to rip it out of my notebook, and throw
It out later.

Cry about it baby boomer, better father raise me better.
I wonder what its like to be better then the others,
But afraid of the TV and shadows.
being afraid of the guillotine and gallows,
but can write poems and good resumes, but she leaves me the morning after.
So my library of poetry grows bigger, and my pen’s ink is blacker,
The words flow faster, the mind sets fires.
But denies that I am high-wired/misfired/expired/manic/and tired.
But I’ll keep writing, and leave behind my words for you to wonder
what it’s like to write lightning, while still afraid of thunder.

P.S Hope Kanye feels better soon. Get Well Pablo.


Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine.