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.

 

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