National Collegiate Preparatory Public Charter School
I’m underneath the graves of sorrow;
I’m above you all in the lineup,
or call it the pipeline.
I come over you like a shadow
I can’t be touched, I’m like a wildflower
I’m soft on the inside, hard on the outside of the line.
I go behind a door, like a window on a balcony
I come between you like ham and cheese on a Sunday.
Within 5 miles, I’d be there, up
to your level of alignment
when it’s called.
I’m a ghost going through your nightmares
but I’ll be stuck in your mind
like a wishbone, or thoughts and sorrow.