Bound hands drop

there are tools to assist.
thoughts borne of
stubbornness and pride,
dismiss benefit,
nullifying potentiality.
self-reliance chosen
as a meager crutch
of repetition.
weakness beholds judgement
for aid,
whose redundant recourse
unnecessarily spins doubt and distress.
unclench fists are better
at grasping things.

Little pink hat

standing in a crowded bus terminal,
a father holds his daughter in his arms.
the wind takes her pink hat,
one that i race to pick up.
sure, it landed within 2 feet of himself
before he noticed it had blown.
but i ran to its rescue.
i felt compelled.
his arms were full.
what i found exceptional was
the amount of people who
didn’t give a shit.
and why should they,
it wasn’t their hat.