THE   SACE   THAT   WE   NAME

by Obe



the night is tall
and i am short
my body lays numb
against the white sheets
of my wall
and no one knows the passion of the pen
except maybe the poet
who hangs herself to dry
when the rains run inside

walking talking streets alive
smiles conveyed in metaphor
similes that smile
and tears that never really cry
and death is followed by rebirth
against the purity of an unpure page
and they believe that white is pure
and black is sin
dividing by tones and hues
as i divide by frowns and smiles

the night is tall
and i am short
reality is the space that we name
the images against the white sheets
of my wall
call it narcissism if you wish
these mirrors that i write through
but extend yourself
maybe this generation X
is a little more that self love
call it self truth
since love is an akward reality
we can't always put a name to

the night is tall
and i am short
one night the sky will stretch
and make room for me
one night sleep will come gentle
and rock me with a lullaby
and i will dream the dreams
i dream of
when the night is tall
and in between
i just am.


Obe usually performs her poetry with her guitar.