Peace

       I can trust that, when searching for the heralds of decency my quest will be long. Eventually the pursuit will seem frivolous and the causes abolished, but I will continue. I know that the evidence will not bode well for the quality of the current generation of youth. I mustn’t follow those who spread hate by perpetually associating color with action, color with crime, or color with anything other than a description of the subject at hand. I mustn’t follow the eternally self-victimized; the ones pointing the blame of hatred at the “white man” and not noticing the hatred that they feel in their very hearts. I will not look toward those who cannot see the problem that they’re crafted into something immortal. When searching for this decency I must look not only with mind but with heart, for my knowledge fails where my heart does not. 

        I fear the dogma of nobility has been desecrated and only holds true with our blessed elders. The hatred of mankind for mankind is nothing short that despicable. We have caches where we store our arsenal of blame to fire whenever questioned. We oppress ourselves by believing wholeheartedly that we are oppressed. We cannot step outside our safe havens of history because reality is just as bleak. I fear the possibility of peace…has never existed.

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Oil And Snow

My deformities have taken shape,

Oil and snow,

Admiration and disgrace,

We all know,

That look on my face,

That still glare of the crow.

The intrigue of nascent disorder forces my hand to raise,

There’s no longer a god here to be praised,

Only the likings of the devoured man,

The ones gnashing on nails and dreaming of Hell,

I am home on soured land,

Dilapidated monuments and decencies taken by the plight of man,

The plight of men,

The women would stay tucked away in their homes,

The peace would stay buried with their bones,

And the wretched folk would parade the streets.

Oil and snow,

Flashes of a dying crow,

Failing where it feasts,

It has munched on greater beasts,

But cannot spring from its feet,

Useless wings, a broken beak,

The broken spoken I’d never speak,

A cry for something a cry for help,

The withered wreck and nothing felt,

Numbest replaces what the light has dealt,

Oil and snow,

More darkness than light,

The last white,

If I tired-

I could become life.

Moves

Despite the throes of shouldering malignant devices,

I am still fond of my resolve,

Spades of incessant onslaughts sought to drain my hope from me like blood to a grateful needle,

I have confessed my power to conquer the professedly impossible to the world,

I bested the wretched with flames and held again begotten peace in hand,

While terrors of the night rocked me in my sleep I found solace in the mental chaos and threw doubt to the dancing flames,

Hands burnt to char and wrists bruised with chain.

 

The embraces of tranquil relapse massage the trite irrationality-

Never beyond my grip of sanity,

Intelligence of oneself putting shields to the trying tyrant,

Armies in thought clashing blades with the beasts,

Possessing advances without defeat,

Again, and again into incredible escapes,

I have found my definition of what means emotionally safe,

I can no longer stand on fragile ground holding eternity in my hands,

This is a story of my triumph.

 

Days have stopped counting backwards,

The sun has stopped startling the bats,

The smell of stability no longer churns the morning stomach,

I am no longer hungry for love,

I am no longer blind to place,

I am no longer slung asunder,

And I am no longer ungrateful to God’s grace.

I am thankful.

Broken Light

I died in my dream last night,

Not pleasantly no no not pleasantly,

I was crushed by a curse,

The weight of my culture scraped into my swollen shoulders,

The weather made it worse,

The sky would cry its stolen ice boulders hoping the ground would hurt,

The vibrations would call my knees to ground,

The sound,

Would cause my ears to ring,

The debris,

Would cause my breathing to act up and my skin to sting,

I had a memory of living toward greater means,

I wanted to thrive and yearned to be seen,

I had aspirations, motivations, and death dreams,

Every morning and every night,

I would speak to myself in the mirror trying to kindle that internal light,

When it died down the darkness stopped the beating on my chest,

I got swamped with fatigue and dived into disinterest,

Chronically depressed,

Eating beside my own shit and sleeping atop my own mess,

I could not see beyond my sight,

Every morning and every night,

I would talk to myself in a building’s window to try and rekindle that light.

 

I did not know what it meant to be spiritually blind,

I was always the only person on Earth and could not stand being around people,

I would scoff at the church steeples,

Call the church people “sheeple”,

And move on with my dirty day.

 

My people would stare at me and my beggin’ hands,

Giving pity and pennies,

Two days have passed on an empty corner and questioning faces.

 

To Be Treated

You look trapped in your pictures,

You cannot exceed the frame,

He grips your side with a smirk,

You look down smiling at the dirt,

Let’s be honest, it’s obvious you’re hurt,

It’s obvious that what goes on at home must not be seen at church,

He’s obviously abusive,

And there’s a reason why he wants to keep your relationship completely exclusive.

 

You have like 2 friends, your two older sisters,

And when you need something, both of their responses couldn’t be swifter,

But you never say you need anything,

Even though you’re hungry for validation,

You need no other external influence to bring you to the realization-,

That his love is blisters,

He gets jealous when you talk to men at work…

 

Transactional communication coated with copious aggression,

He always has to teach you something to make sure you learn your lesson,

At least three punches a night,

Not a fight,

Because you never hit back,

You just wait for him to finish and you apologize for the slack,

Your face is perfect,

Too perfect,

Mounds of makeup,

Smile is overexerted.

Stories you gotta make up,

Wearing foundation at the gym,

A relationship polluted with glum and grim-

Representations of control,

The society advises you to step off the battlefield before the battlefield takes its irreparable toll,

You’re a glutton for pain, so of course you’ll stay,

He’ll eventually snap one day,

And crush your head on the wall,

Your sisters would be at your funeral crying at your call-

To not speak to your family about the throes of your fall,

He would run away…well crawl-

Into a hole to evade the police,

Your body would be left on the bloody floor with your name still on the lease,

Just because no one taught you how men should treat.

 

Plague

I had a dream that I lost her,

The light left and I was forced to rekindle my flame in this new darkness,

I had a dream that I saw her, bewildered and heartless,

We had to be stuck in the same cage,

Because I could feel her breath on my shoulder,

The breath began to go colder and her eyes began to glow bright red,

She was trying to wake the dead-

Feeling of abandonment but bred injustice instead,

She was between two nexuses I didn’t care about,

I began to shout-

In the dark,

Trying to keep my spark,

From being consumed by her stark-

Attempts to swallow me whole.

 

I woke up,

To the bells of my alarm clock,

Completely sweaty, completely still in shock,

I could not believe,

That another person convinced me I didn’t need to breath,

That another person made my wants feel like my needs,

I couldn’t believe,

That I would be force-fed an understanding I simply could not conceive,

A plight of reality of knowledge,

A pain held on my ribs,

I got up to work…

Getting dressed with my eyes closed…

 

Dirty Strings

The blight in those fearless eyes,

Cutting blooms from plants,

And love from romance.

 

The blight in those fearless eyes,

Giving rot to my precious,

While gripping close to her heart.

 

Dare her to dance on the strings pulled by fingers,

The overbearing over-blaring opera singer-

Of her present,

Decide to build her future for her,

Give no regard to the desires of the subject.

 

She is family,

The closest there is,

The only there is,

But she is not theirs,

And she is not his,

She is herself,

Owned by her actions,

Forgotten by her inactions,

She is precise,

And has been given her rightful opportunity to build her own life,

She’s been guilted twice,

By the edicts of puppet masters making sure she doesn’t still the show; keeping her alike.

 

If she wields her feet to step, they shall,

If she wields her sleep to slept, it shall,

The power of breaking from the shell,

Of her elders’ shadows.

 

Precious Spring bloom,

Not arid, not trite,

Never taken by the blight,

Of their fearless eyes.

 

I promise the pressure will be a prospect of the past,

Just step.