Heaven

Some days I crave a sun so bright

Instead of Memphis rain

And people that can say my real name

Some days I feel my skin turning back

A darker shade close to black

And I hear my roots calling me home

But most days I know I am not alone

In feeling so far away from home

We’re all immigrants after all

Waiting for the call

To return to heaven

The Poet’s Dream

Ideas that take foreign shapes lead to restless sleep

He lays his head ignoring the ghosts of the undead

She posts a post on Facebook that no one understands

“Why’s she so weird? Who would like this post?” They whisper behind bright screens, reblogging ideas simple and plain

He dreams of knowing her name

That girl in the coffee shop that looks too shy 

They dream, of someone knowing their name

(I’m writing this half asleep)