When I am blocked, and I can’t write I call it a free prose,

its when you let yourself go for as long as you can,

it used to be as fast as you can pencil in hand,

making a poem, before I was called on again

“Mr WRT, are you paying attention, whats the answer to my question?”

“what is the answer to this equation?”


I remember that joke,

what did one seed say to another, ge-om-etry

that was ten years ago, maybe fifteen,

those were jokes, that was before smokes, and needle prods,

lithium levels in the morning, and then every other week

watching blood flow like a mosquito bite.

That was around the time I remember watching TV, when I saw two planes slam into 2 buildings

I was 18 sleeping, and my dad woke me up to tell me what happened

I guess 9/11 is like Kennedy’s assasination

Cause that’s what my mom and dad’s generation said, “what happened?”

and a entire nation was saddened

and when 9.11 happened, that’s what I said, “what happened?”

and now the next generation, or generation you tube

is going to remember sandy hook, and some madman shooting up a school.

And they are going to ask the same question “how did that happen?”

A little tirade, I usually keep this to myself,

but something has to be done about mental health awareness

we have an epidemic, and its what I see when I walk out on the street

everyone looks exactly like me,

but a generation that doesn’t know how to read,

has learned that it is quicker to bleed out, then to try and succeed

I remember I once read at a school, taught them how I write to live,

and how I used it as therapy,

I remember this, this kid, said to me, that when he gets mad,

he likes to use his fists, punch a wall,

I said, you can only punch walls for so long, before your hands bruise

and he said “fuck you”

and I said, ok, dude, then maybe poetry is not for you.

But that’s the truth,

people are quick to throw fists,

before sitting down and rhyming sentences

what do I know? I know I have dealt with this illness

through at least two presidencies,

three school shootings,

and two wars, with too many causalties to count

I wish more people would write,

less people would fight

and damn how did I get so preachy,

I’m just talking about life.

But I guess I’ll step on my soapbox

just to let myself know I stand for something

I know its usually,

just erratic writing, with a train ride, and trying to stay focused

but right now I’m just writing my thoughts

on my soap box,

my digital soapbox,

my only outlet are words.

I can’t speak too well on many subjects

I was only good at writing down lyrics,

and passing vocab tests

versed in Tribe Called Quest lyrics,

listening to Astronautalis,

love music with lyrics, that move you

I hope that’s what I do,

I hope I move you, to write, and do what I do.

and believe me you can make it through

just rhyme sentences, instead of serving them.

put the guns down. and have some fun

listen to the beat of the drum.

Thank you for reading. This has been my 200th post. I feel really grateful for all the poets, artists, and readers who I have been blessed to work with on the journey that this is, to borrow a loved one’s words,

a  beautiful, beautifully twisted story….and it is only just beginning.

thanks again peace and love

Jason Wright

Editor Oddball Magazine