Daily Verse a short verse (almost) every day


I don’t want your pity, your charity.
I’m not your good deed for the day.
I want truth and fairness and honesty,
so I can live in a dignified way.

My legs don’t work, but my spirit stands tall.
Our skins don’t match, but we’re the same within.
The promise “equality, liberty, and justice for all”
is spoken and broken without breathing in.

Being treated like a person isn’t a lavish claim.
Respect ain’t a favor. I don’t owe you for this.
I’m different but equal in every single way.
Your ignorance is stealing my life for your bliss.

A snide remark, a playful pinch,
gaslighting and buttonholing and cruel victim blaming.
This boy’s club will protect their own in a cinch:
we are just dressing for windows, canvas for framing.

I just want to be seen for who I really am.
More than my color, my legs, or what’s in between.
A human with dreams and promise and hands,
willing to work fair and free and clean.

But the deck’s stacked in your favor,
and you don’t even see it.
The history of poverty and slavers:
you don’t feel it.

I respect that this is hard for you,
‘cuz you think you did nothing wrong.
Changing minds is grievously slow,
and those listening must be strong.

I don’t have all the answers,
I’m no knight or wizard or king.
But I know we have to converse,
it’s how we fix this thing.

Just think of what if you were me,
try putting yourself in my shoes.
How would you like your life to be?
What shouldn’t you get to choose?

Wouldn’t you like a life of fairness?
Where you got what you deserved?
Or at least the same shot at happiness
that silver spooners were served?

That’s all I want. A clean shot at life.
Not to be hindered or burdened so much.
I should be free to be husband or wife,
and stand proudly with my crutch.

Do better, be nicer, focus every day.
Your co-citizens are on the line, this ain’t no joke.
This country’s dream can make it great
but not if the people ain’t woke.

Intangible Loss

Do not talk of color to the blind,
nor sing praise of music to the deaf.
Words do not capture the sight of the mind,
joy of the heart, or piety enough.

The orphan knows nothing of ancestry,
the slaves nothing of their heritage.
A vague feeling of deficiency
that cannot be filled with words and verbiage.

Culture is a privilege,
civility a gift to few.
In times of equality indiscriminate
sophistication is a crime too.

But do not despair if lies proliferate,
people fib and leaders prevaricate.
A fabrication of fabrications is delicate,
and upon exposure to truth, disintegrates.

Red will still be red, discord still harsh.
They may silence the critics and deny the facts,
their art will still be ugly, their sounds still clash.
Their souls will still be empty, the poor, talentless hacks.

The beauty of this world lasts longer than men.
It is immortal as it is fleeting.
Those who see it for what it is will be born again,
who seek reality beyond perceiving.

Ball & Chain

Your playful voice lifts me up,
your welcome tweets make me smile.
Your presence is smooth,
pleasant, and soothes
and I almost forget for a while…

I know you don’t owe me anything,
and I’d never take your pity.
Yet, I wonder if what ails me,
binds and derails me,
is beyond your capacity.

It is I who am truly sorry
for being unable to soar.
Even as my heart wishes to fly
with you into the sky,
my mind is tethered to the floor.

Will I ever be free of these chains,
these sins that drag me down?
Am I never to take wing again?
Hear the wind sing again?
Just scamper on the ground?

I may never find another as you,
of that I’m acutely aware.
But if there’s one thing I can do,
it’s not letting it drag you too:
it is my burden to bear.

I’m too well anchored to hope
to achieve escape velocity.
Until I find a way to break free,
or learn to somehow carry it with me,
the ball and chain is my reality.


I knew, the moment I saw you,
that I will always love you more.

What I didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t,
was how little you’d love me back.

Last Days

If all I had was a year to live,
I’d travel the world, a heart adrift.

When only a handful months remain,
I’ll code and write, sketch and paint.

I’ll feast in my final fortnight
on favorite foods and sweet delights.

I’ll save a few concluding days
for admiring nature’s wonderous ways.

And in my last remaining hour or two,
I’ll sit back, relax, and think of you.