I wonder where you are
I wonder where you've been
I wonder if I'll ever see you again.
I wonder if you miss me
As much as I miss you.
I wonder if you dream of us
And all that we've been through

It waits for no one,
not even for the most powerful and rich.
It moves on the same paste from when we all know ourselves.

It could never be controlled,
never.
I wonder if it rewinds sometimes,
Because then I could say I know the reason for deja vu.

It can be very funny when we say "time fly's fast"
Or "time is moving very slow"
It makes me wonder and think.
But what I do know,
It waits for no one.

Where are we?
This place looks familiar,
But where are the screaming kids?
Where are the runners and bikers?
Why is it so hard for parents
To find toilet paper or diapers?
Why are people wearing masks?
It's spring, not Halloween.
I'm sure this place has its charm
But I want to go home.

I didn't know what you'd say.
I didn't know what you'd do.
That day l asked
"Will you let me love you?"
With tears falling from your eyes
I wish I could say I was surprised
When you replied
"No"
Even though I already knew,
I had to ask why.
"Why?
Because I refuse to listen to your heart
Break as you watch me die."
My heart's already been broken.
It breaks every time
I walk out that door.
Please, you don't have to suffer alone
Anymore."
You say "it's not fair to you"
As you let your face hide
Behind a curtain of your Auburn hair.
"You're right. It's not fair to me.
Not fair to you. But that's another thing we could share. I love you."
"I love you too."
4 little words made my heart whole.
4 little words, and now she's forever a part of my mind, body, and soul.

If you saw an x-ray of my heart,
I wonder where you'd even start.

curious humans
nations working together—
toilet paper wars



© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.

I was always told my hair texture was bad.
So here comes the white cream.
The white cream is chemical hell.
I can smell it as I write this.
As I got older I realized the white cream took out more than my curls and coils that the Man upstairs scribbled for me.
It took away my temple hairs. It took my chances of having hair past my shoulders.
But the white cream never took my curiosity.
My never ending curiosity of what I would look like if the white cream never took my real hair from me.
My real hair, which was, is, and never will be “bad.”