as if the cars would part for me and my problems
as if I were owed safe passage or dared death.
in a certain eastern city,
where crosswalks faded like broken promises,
I stopped looking both ways.
sometimes my self-pity was selfish.
I’d cross against the light just to hear it scream.
my all-the-time foe is self-consciousness
made every horn sound like Hashem clearing His throat.
now, smoking weed on a sobriety zoom,
I tell myself and others that jaywalking wasn’t falling,
but the asphalt doesn’t care about semantics.
there is no substitute teacher for time,
no crossing guard, no late bell,
just the endless traffic of new days and age.
where crosswalks faded like broken promises,
I stopped looking both ways.
sometimes my self-pity was selfish.
I’d cross against the light just to hear it scream.
my all-the-time foe is self-consciousness
made every horn sound like Hashem clearing His throat.
now, smoking weed on a sobriety zoom,
I tell myself and others that jaywalking wasn’t falling,
but the asphalt doesn’t care about semantics.
there is no substitute teacher for time,
no crossing guard, no late bell,
just the endless traffic of new days and age.
I need to stay focused on being present,
but the present is a street I keep stepping into,
backwards, blind, hands in my pockets.
it doesn't come easy,
for I must fight for optimism,
but the present is a street I keep stepping into,
backwards, blind, hands in my pockets.
it doesn't come easy,
for I must fight for optimism,
but thank God for gratitude.