impromptu

You try to make your pictures last a little longer,

your ties get skinnier with the generations

and rhythm is the make-or-break of music style.

You lose inspiration after one verse.

Mini heart attacks follow small, dropped things,

and thunder is the most exhilarating sound earth has ever made.

Be-YOU-tiful is overused,

my hands get antsy when I quit typing,

and the bed of my nails has been in my mouth since before my tongue could form sentences.

Teachers teach,

and students learn,

and sign language is beautiful because hands aren't supposed to words.

Art is the literature of the brain,

followers and lovers are irrelevant.

I stole a boy before I stole his heart,

but that doesn't make me any less of a criminal;

in fact, if love was a government, I'd be penalized for random acts of possession

and sleepless nights.

Not all beautiful things need a purpose.

Lack of purpose is sometimes the purpose.

But only a few of you path-walkers see that

and smell that

and live under painted rocks

in cities you created.