Generation

Preach to book back to her,

Sit her down and make her recite the same trite phrases,

Praise the cur,

Grab her finger and press it on the book and watch as she traces-

The same endeavors, again and again.

The ungodly moral destitution of the modern household holds principled poverty in its wrinkled hands,

Our kids trace the same words, the same statements as we did…trying to understand-

The relevance,

And we live whole lives trying to pay knowledge as recompense for all the kind parts of ourselves we transgressed in our past,

56 years compressed in a gasp of broken air.

Preach to past back to her as if her spirit wasn’t there.

New Children

The digital billboards were bleeding red pigment on the heads of the black children,

They could not find the cause,

The cause, the laws, the law, the old flaws, the new claws hooked in the back of-

The new children.

Potential

About 20 minutes ago we got in the elevator at 430am and headed to the lobby,

I stood and stared behind her eyes for about 20 minutes,

I remember the tone of her last words wiping the back of my neck and curving around to my mouth “crack, crack”,

She got into the Lyft and rode off…and not until about 23 minutes later did the weight of my new loss finally punched my open heart…

Someone took an ice cream scooper and carved out some meat of my stomach…I had a spike in heart and crater in my chest…the weight of a new type of revelation, a color I’ve never seen before;

I did not only lose her, I lost potential, I lost her voice, I lost her stories, I lost her pain, I lost her arms gripped firmly around my posture.

We sat in each other like couches newly broken in,

Newly soaking in the new-founded love that we pretended we didn’t have…out of fear; of potential.

My heart became audible and I stared at my black ceiling until the sun made it white again.

I’ll wait in peacetime while my emotions war on; for us to return to each other.

Osinachi

To question what I’ve proven with my own fascinations,

Those constants, these…those always…my eternals.

A phenomena of twisted time folded and braided two people together…

Love laid atop those intertwined,

Time witnessed the all-divine, ill-defined soul-combined when I-

Held her space in my arms, when I-

I peeked into her galaxy and pledged to undo the harm-

She withstood for decades and conquered for years,

I promised to repair her cut wings and wipe her chest of her fears,

I promised to show her her ground,

A humble queen.

I am with vision and she is from God,

She will never be forgotten.

Not Him

This isn’t the same god,

This isn’t the same god I remember,

This isn’t the same man,

This is an insane man,

This isn’t the same God.

What book is this from?

What book did you read?

Where’d this meaning come from?

Is this the meaning you need?

To control them, to control her?

The rotting psychological chauffeur?-

Raising her to believe that your god is it and the only thing she’ll ever need?

What good?

What salvation?

What’s not understood?

What eternal damnation?

This is evil dressed in black heels, black dresses, strangling her black feels with your black messes.

What happens when you finally meet him and you have to answer for your ignorance?

Power Pencil

I started drawing her then I stopped,

I realized this is now how she views herself so she wouldn’t recognize the picture,

The charcoal would start to bend to her perception; destroying the perspective.

I put down my pencil and starred at the picture without hope that’ll she ever see what I see.

My Black

They said they knew why is wore black,

They didn’t…

They compared it to the only theme their mind could take them to and honestly who could blame them, I was 16.

No tired American teen trope,

Not a renegade teen waving their middle fingers at the sky because that’s where the corrupt institutions live,

No “Fuck Capitalism!” bullshit…

No “No one understands me” nonsense,

It was something more personal, something internal,

It was that dark entity inside me,

That strain, that crushing force,

That pain, that rotting core,

That mean monster, that trauma whore,

It could not hide from the public if it was what I wore…on my cut back.

Thoughts, indisputably despicable thoughts…

Like child killing by headshots,

Total chaos in the form of black rot,

Black blight, black sought-

To take the clothes of my back and shove them down my throat,

My black boots, my black gloves, my black coat,

That big beast, that man-goat-

Poking at my stomach until we spilled out on the floor in front of us;

I was all of my pain, I was every thought, every emotion, everything-

All at once, all the time, every ounce of my past stapled to the back of my mind,

I wore black because…it would remind me that I have a devil to tame,

And to this day, I still work to cut his letters out of my name.

Shard

That pursuit of knowledge deeply outweighing the pursuit happiness,

Her bloody grip staining his swinging ropes…braided right between his halo and wrapped below his chin,

She…into his eyes as they avert life…shoving holes in the dirt,

The cries of his old space cut the present in two.

She is the ship that sank bringing every part of them down into displaced shards of ceiling glass where his rope gave,

His rope laid firmly on black ground as he witnessed his last fall.

Right After

Why was I reminded of my home when I wanted nothing to do with it?

I kept my horrors there locked in a display box nailed right above my headboard,

The quiet mumbles of rotted romanticism reading the scriptures of my past relationships,

Objective I have failed so many times that I care no longer to count,

What made me think of that box? That room? That cage?

With no topics to raise…I still prayed to the only god I had an abusive relationship with until my demons came of age,

Then fighting to trap their maturity inside the case beside my head, above my face, above my eyes,

I fear that one day the blood tides of my previous relationships…

will drown me.

Hmm

Good news!

I’m alive…but I don’t know what that means,

And she doesn’t either.