Expectations

This poem will not spark fireworks in your brain
It will not make your ears want to leap from your head to be closer to my voice.
This poem will not make love blossom in your belly button
Or make you want to eat rainbows and poop butterflies

This poem will not inspire you to join a cult
It will not lower your cholesterol or make your eyelashes long and beautiful
This poem will not make your whites whiter or brighten your colors
It will not improve your SAT score.

This poem will not earn my place in history, a hall of fame or an entry in an obscure anthology
This poem will not make me rich, get me laid or even win me a second-place bowling trophy.

This poem will only tell you that I have a hurricane in my heart;
That fireflies carry my dreams each night from the river
This poem will tell you that on my worst days, I am a lean, frightened shadow
And on my best days, I am a shiny black crow shrieking truth from the treetops