Trauma

“don’t give me your sympathy”
I’ve never been one for sympathy
please, don’t give me your sympathy
shit, I barely hold together pieces of my fractured memory
meanwhile grasping for any semblance of an identity
at peace with me and emptiness manifesting so much symmetry
darkness lives deep with infamy
even now and back since infancy
hope vaguely scratched the surface like emery
love came and went with incandescent yet inconsistent energy
I’ve been chasing happiness that only fulfills me instantly
but its opposing force latched onto my soul like an entity
now loved ones turned to enemies
paranoia of possible enmity eerily nearing my vicinity
God give serenity!
insecurities veers me from your trinity
but at least I pray with sincerity
it’s just that this life came with a room full of consequential amenities
and all I’ve gotten for it is bear essential proclivities
with my conflicting affinities
spewing a slew of obscenities
because every bond came with a share of penalties
I never understood life period, until I got run-on sentences at my sentencing
I smiled at that rejection, I’ve grown accustomed to our synergy
a vacation away from expectations, that only ever hindered me
believing I needed to live up physically, jaded me mentally
and I found respite chasing my opposites, convinced it meant chemistry
because that’s where attraction lies right?
searching for life ironically resulted in me feeling like I’ve died twice
I can barely walk in my own shoes, that’s why I keep them tied tight
but objects in the mirror appear closer than they are, though in hindsight
it’s been years since I’ve been able to relax my eyesight
because enemies or my wretched past creep up from my blind side
reminiscing those moments I told the mirror that you may die tonight
by my own hands, or in the midst of a riot, or fight, in the line of fire, after past failures from trying the hype of my might
I’m a great thinker, but I never failed with these hands
forgetting its the fingers that build, but the mind that makes the plans
believing my body of work, and the body’s I hurt, is what made the man
then inside me had burst, so my mind put in work, which gave me a chance
to pick back up, and piece together those fractured bits of memory-
that I repressed from my surface and brought with me inside this penitentiary
building on those broken ‘periods’ in life that sentenced me, to this run-on sentencing
now through righting my wrongs, I heal while writing my poems, which led me to the rites I find scribed as my identity
naw, I never been one to ask for sympathy
but after living through all that I have, I count it a blessing being able to develop empathy
I have a savior I savor, so save your sinister sympathy
use it for someone worse off, I’m better now, and I rather take back power of, how you remember me
—

“no excuses”
I was abused, I became an abuser…no excuses
I was confused, and became a confusion…no excuses
I believed my delusions, and became an illusion…no excuses
I wasn’t included, and felt love was intrusive…no excuses
I couldn’t remain lucid, I felt I would lose it…no excuses
my pride cup half full, I remained drunkenly foolish…no excuses
I…fuck it, you get it right? No excuses!
—

“disciple”
I clinged to a, gang for survival
til I, became my survival
I was a, gangsta disciple
now my, gangsta’s discipled
by the, change I decided
I became the, change I provided
I got, game from the Bible
turned the, page in the Bible
provided a, way for revival
spiked a, wave in my vitals
spite was, a way for denial
I was, estranged to the Bible
but there’s no, chains in the Bible
though I’m, a gangsta disciple
Jesus, came with disciples
I speak to, pain and our trials
because every, gangsta’s a child
living through, anger and clouds
so I’m more than a, gangsta disciple
but I have to, disciple the gangstas
because they aren’t, rivals or strangers
they’re just, looking for angels
so I, disciple the dangerous
and dedicate my, life to the shameful
and to the, blamed and disabled
not just offering a, cane to the able
but also a, way for the strangled
—

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