Once...

Once on a white piece of paper with no lines

He wrote a poem

And he called it “Ignorance: A Question”

Because that’s what it was all about.

Since that was the day someone

Thought there was a mold to fit in.

And thought she knew what it all meant.

And had it all figured out

Because she was being paid to speak.

And thought that the word “valid,”

Meant nothing.

But maybe it did mean nothing

Because that’s what everyone thought.

And at that time, that’s all that mattered—

What everyone thought

But the “truth” is really the only thing that matters.

At least it should.

Because “valid” is a word you need to earn

And she didn’t earn it.

At least yet.

But for her to say she did is the worst of all

Because the only “truth” is in knowing

We know nothing.


Once on a white piece of paper with black lettering

He wrote a poem

And he called it “Departure”

Because that’s what it felt like

And that’s what it was all about.

And he showed the poem to no one

Because no one needed to see it,

Not even he who wrote it

It was a departure because that’s where he went.

Even though he never moved from that spot.

But in reality,

He left himself.

And that’s what mattered

Because that’s what he felt.

That was the year it went from zero to one

And no one knew what it meant,

Not even him.