finch

short update:

--i've been thinking about the concept of suicide lately, and here's what i came up with. i'd love opinions on it. if somebody is genuinley not happy at all all the time, has been for awhile, and will be in the forseeable future, is it really selfish of them to take their own life, or is it selfish of the people around them to want them to stay alive?

--here's the poem i talked about in my last journal. enough people asked for it that i decided to post it. it's currently untitled.

The man with charcoal skin scribbles on the sidewalk,
begging change from those who stop to read his crooked lines
Please help, he says as they appraise the poems scrawled in chalk.

The woman in the wrinkled suit begs God to appear, create some sign
tomorrow will be better. Walking slowly, she takes the time to look
at his crooked smile. He looks like Jesus, she thinks, searching for a dime

but stops. From her dirty paisley bag she pulls a notebook,
tears out the used pages (her personal poetic creed),
finds a pen, and hands them to the man. Saying nothing, they share a look

and she goes home. No job today, she says, breaks her last piece of bread
in half, and shares it with her hungry dog, who sits patiently,
knowing someday things will change. She pushes her furry head
under her owners hand and sits there silently, without complaint.