sidewalk chalk

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Isaiah Alexander

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we spent hours under the sun,
shading our dreams in sidewalk chalk.
neon green, blue, and red.
we drew until our knuckles bled.

we imagined the possibilities:
future homes, husbands, wives, babies—
the lives we’d build,
etched onto cement.
our street became a canvas,
a testament to youthful ambition,
colored with all of our visions.

then the rain would come,
our work washed away in dust.
but this was nothing new to us.
we draw our lives again improved.

this time with new dreams—
a different house,
a different job,
a different course,
a different color.
limitless every day of summer

I haven’t touched chalk since grade school.
I’ve learned the rules:
adulthood doesn’t allow for mess.
mistakes stain.
everything is permanent.

no do-overs. no rain to save us.
now it’s markers, pens,
ink that bleeds .
mistakes show.
everyone sees them
everyone knows.

I get paint on my fingers,
and I’m a marked man.
people glance and whisper,
“he doesn’t color in the lines.”
“his past has stained him.”
“you can’t save them.”

I want children,
but I fear I won’t.
I want to quit my job,
but I still don’t.
I love writing,
but imposter syndrome has its grip.
and I’m so damn tired of rejection.
sometimes I wish life were easier.
sometimes I wish it had gone to plan.
most times,
I just wish I could go back
to sidewalk chalk.

__________

Isaiah Alexander is a 25-year-old biracial poet; Black, brown, and boldly queer raised in Houston, Texas. A first-generation college grad with a journalist’s mind and a poet’s heart, his work spills in rhyme and rhythm, pulsing with grief, love, and the ache of identity. He writes for the overlooked, the soft boys, the broken-hearted, the unhealed. His sister’s transition made him a fierce advocate for trans rights, and his own queerness shapes every stanza. Online, he’s @theebadwriter—but in truth, he’s just trying to make pain beautiful and survival feel like art.

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