Nick Cannon told everyone
that he thinks of things
and makes them happen.
But then I think of the millions
of Nick Cannons, pilgriming
West, spilling out of buses,
only to be a story shared
by everyone else.

I tried to climb-up trees, but already knew
I would never be my friend, who never fell
to where I am at. I was never lucky enough
to be born with my friend’s hands
just as many hopefuls and wannabees weren’t
born with the right stuff, or were born
at the wrong time.  I already knew
what my parents knew,
that I would never be president,
even when they told me I could be anything,
each time I fell.

I never ventured
West, because I knew
I would live long in this town,
with its many trees.

Written for the Thursday Prompt at Because We’re Poets.

9 thoughts on “Movement

  1. fealing that your parents knew that you would not be something…that is painful…interesting the subtle comparison in this as well…

    thanks for linking in at dverse…hope you enjoy some of the other poets offerings…

  2. The idea of story-shared really caught my attention, as did the idea of a friend never falling to where you are. Both had me stopping to think for a bit. I enjoy poems that do that.

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