my, this coat of superficial yet rich historical element
surfacing shallowly as an arbitrary color, matters
because my color
has always been perceived-
in the stark bright, fluorescent white light of America,
and all that is seen holy divine right and pure-
as an antagonist
or antagonized
so I must matter
and I can’t stand how you ‘treat’ the ‘things’ you attribute matter to,
as things
tarnished, used, depleted, destroyed, and done away with
as if its presence is inconvenient
and you’d as quickly devise a method to do away with me with finality
if you could
I feel just like the bastard son of Mother Nature
as I am her Son
I should be proud of this
but the imposed treatment upon us both
makes it hard to call for celebration
when struggle permits the glory
and by the sudden or processive changing of a season, climate, or weather
or a natural disaster
can bring about the same attitude
to the my walking into a room unannounced or expected
or a momentary yet justified slip of composure
My Cellmate is the Psychopath in Me
he mirrors the darkness in me
thoughts I think and quell
and feelings I stifle, he speaks
all created from a world that has boxed me, us, in
blindly jabbing fire pokers through it
I am a result
an effect that I control
for hope of becoming more
and fear of being seen as less,
proving a nostalgic narrative right
and I sleep in the room with my worst nightmare and image of self
sleep is hard
dreaming I’ll be overtaken by myself
my worst fear
because what I keep inside
he keeps out
and I question
would I sleep soundly around myself?
who would win if I fought myself?
and what is the greater purpose of being locked in a room,
with both sides-the completeness of myself?
I fear his truth threatening to break the dam of the light,
or lies that I may have chosen for myself
and what that could mean
because he has life
his truth and reality may never change again
and I’m going into the dynamic pliable oppressive yet ever-changing presence of society
I’m am forever rendered subject to the influence of change
but as of right now,
I am in a world of myself
and there is no escape when you can view both sides of the mirror
a psychopath may be looking right back at you
looking just like you
seeing you more clearly than the lies you instruct yourself to be seen in
Is There, Is She? Then Where, When?
is there a sentient being out there coupled for me
one named woman
designed to correspond to my soul’s design
knitted within my divine tapestry
capable of swimming the nautical miles of my depth
endowed with extra-sensory adeptness that can transverse the frequencies of my spirit
one that can hone with intuition the feeling of my words without words exchanged
a creation that can race in lock step with my ambitions
a siren of my yearning
an oracle of my visions, able to draw out the abstract lines of my consciousness into her own symbols that register an impactful and complimentary meaning to her senses
an energy in this world manifested into intimate and romantical tangibility
a connection that journeys with quantum leaps into infinite and parallel realities where we find our self safe sound serene and serendipitous in this life as one
a feminine equal that can both unguard my fears as we cater to one another’s, coming out on the other end resolute in our fearlessness together
is someone or something like that even real
could I even see her, or her see me
would I be ready and receive her
or destroy her presence, like my own?
unable or incapable of preserving anything and anyone with worth
the culture around blankets me with an ominous disregarding of value
and often I mirror that same attitude upon myself
and those closest
but I’d like to imagine myself ready to be complete once she found me
because my eyes may be too jaded to find her
seeing her for what, who, and how she is
regardless of where and when she is
just as long as she, is
If You Saw What I See
change is all around us
but we refuse it
you refuse me
you refuse us
and I confess
I am concussed
but it’s only because I have seen
and felt so much
I fear next a possible loss of touch
but if I’m not asking too much
can you cleanse yourself of patience
and enter courageous into my rush
and tell me, if time changes
and the directions of focus changes
if I lend you my eyes, and upon receiving them back
could you do the impossible, and embrace your mind’s change
Cosmic Haiku
eternally I
transcendental sentient
being, of cosmos
Chaotic Haiku
made for suffering
Murphy’s-Entropy I am
jade, my condition