HUMILITY

soul is sequestered.
hanging fruit, in a forest of giants
praying for atonement or a holy alliance
molding my bones. soul seller solely uncensored
sling to be highest bidder, sold to goliath
liquor bottle pried in my fingers. corroded and weathered
like sewing a sweater, stitching holes i’m developing
linoleum tiles.
alone in his centerpiece, exhausted, and smiling
phone ringing. moment of silence
calloused fingers, punching the rotary dialing
show me a sign, show me these messages
but show me something,
worth something more than im fretting for
patternized moments wove into metaphors
tethered alignment into saturn skies orbit
were all enraptured to die
for worse or for deserts. for better, I’m dying
choke in the sandstorm that envelops the earth
lying in dirt. drenched in his own recollections
pirating strongholds, storm in depression
hurricane in a teacup, hold a blade in my teeth
for someone so verbose i hardly say what i mean
that’s what’d you say to me.
footsteps loud, like a mouse, but barely a peep
bestial morphing.
don’t know if I’m abnormal or still repulsively mourning
who knows
apex predator stuck in a matrix. his cage is lead proof
have dreams of your tombstone i never payed respects too
every morning at three id pray at your feet. go rest for awhile
heard nothing but echoes. stretch moment denial
heads closed in. labyrinth threshold.
side-thorn, blood shot. gigawattage electrode
eyes sore, daily. is there anything left to fight for
python bite force, venom poisonous psych ward
joining through the nylon nervous system sidewalks
bicep tendon, symbolism. combination ice cold
thromboembolism. narcissism. it’s hard to paint the right tones
existentialist grave digger. ghost hunter. face filter
illiterate author.
conspiracy factist. fascist stuck in francisco ascaso
conjecture gets harder. the lesser the gaudier
the lesson: contemporary. your protector. your guardian.
preparation delirium. procrastination is lazy
injection paste into serum. like they did to blacks in the 80s
reincarnations a bitch. face in the stitches you gave me
perturbed with no purpose, let’s give it a pause
and stop for awhile, the resentment is awful
statuette in a costume, baphomet with a cross
sometimes thinking I’m crazy. always thinking I’m lost
seeking fulfilling things- small cause, far from colossus
never thinking I’m right. confused with humility

again and again, again.

again

i hear footsteps awaken the creaks in the floor
again.
who the fucks at the door?
night stand machete laid neatly in drawer
revolver neath queen mattress. in case of a quarrel
but
there’s nothing. just repentance, contempt, intentions dissolved
gun powder, protein drinks, and penniless thoughts
could’ve sworn there was something. apparently not
hear a swarm of bees next to me every day before dark
borderline manic. try undoing the damage
safe spaces fossilize our balloons & our cages
as therapeutic as raindrops on metal roof interchanges
interpersonal relationships via internal damnation
stray further from kinship. purge the pervasion
starboard the king ship. observe the insane
social connection more grandeur than normal distinction
hormonal response. formality close to instinction
forming a bond. cutthroat. synovial strong
childhood friends like famous rockstars. so many gone
kurt, latore, shakur, shuffling through on the browser
normalcy’s paused. quiet as space. jupiters powder
going through life thinking, how do i amount?
inner city soul, stained by destitute out-of-towners
with every nuance i learned from human encounters
too many to count. too many to counsel
when obstacles are given names like they’re mountains
who wouldve thought. who couldve saw this
my descent towards aloof disregarding
diluvian shark fin. hell in a handbasket
downpours start when my umbrella unravels
distinct as makeshift drum sets in the big apple
phasing out white noise on hierarchal basis
psychosomatic. mind warp. self actualization
dwell in differentiation you promptly install in
we’re basic creatures. basically bombs
waiting to go off. waiting to want.
ticking til doomsday. can’t wait to disarm me
but
something is wrong when
my maslow pyramid has 5 entries for love and belonging
some things prolonged, let the panic begin
to quiet storms to harsh circumstances again
don’t need you to resolve what i mention
just
put my tears in a mason while you nod in acceptance

again

nice’s guys finish last

I’m stronger than you. Or, I thought I was. Maybe I am. Don’t fucking touch me. Make up your mind. Tell me you love me. Fuck me like you mean it. Mean it when you fuck me, love me when you tell me, you love me. Tell me a secret. Show me your ghosts. I’ll show you my demons. Baby, you should go. Maybe we only got along cause our monsters played nice. How to atone? I’m so over, being alone. But, I rather be alone, than prone to abandonment and holding, on to consolement that’ll never be known. Fuck what your sentiments wrote – they lied to me and let it be shown. A lantern is only a guide if the lights lit, and you have your sights set on looking for home. Hope you sow what you reap, motherfucker, my eyes on you. You’ll be holding up hollow fruit with no seeds in between. you asked me to keep my poetic words away from hurting your soul. I aint keen on breaking promises, but, no. Hold on a minute, hold on a hour, hold onto my throat. my broken heart is telling me you told him you won’t.

Fuck it, I’m definitely stronger than you. If I did half the shit you did, you wouldn’t be breathing.

I could fucking feel it. MY heart beating beats it probably shouldn’t. Cry kissing you while my eyes blur up the honesty. Moments freezing. Cryogenic holding cell, to serve as reconnaissance. Mild dilemma. Miles of enemies. My field of daisies wakes up to your bombing them. Rot in your holding cell. Holding your rotting cells. Selfish, cold, hell, I hope that you’re happy. Well, I’m happy you’re hoping. We look at the present like it’s not as good as the past, try to absolve ourselves from the what future brings us. Cumulonimbus. Futuristic. Who are you kissing? It’s me. Look at your constellation tattoo and connect the dots. I am that shining star.  You ever look at it? It’s the letter Y. The same letter to the question I ask. Phases un-phased. Finding myself in the middle of nowhere. Then, I’m finding myself. In the middle of nowhere. I don’t know what I am, but.. I do know what you aren’t. Humans are complex. We’re showing emotions of what we don’t currently feel, and hide the ones that we do feel. I’m a crab in my shell when I’m screaming to let me the fuck out of my own skin. Someone once said it is impossible to be selfish and happy – and that’s terribly true. I just hope you stop being selfish.

Telling yourself you’re a free soul, unbound to any chains. But my love, you’re holding your own chains. You aren’t free. Just running away. There’s no underground railroads for people running away from the truth. There’s only one way to unlock the chains. Your lips, need to not tell lies. Now tell me with your eyes how you’ll make that happen.

houston

i didn’t want this to happen. didn’t want to get launched into saturn. unmanned vessel. haunted mansion. it’s so hard to imagine myself even a month ago. don’t even remember how to breathe without thinking of you. i breathed differently before. connect the dots in the sky. constellation prize. consolation, sky. but now I’m an astronaut (not by choice) i have all the equipment. but i breathe different. houston asks if I’m okay. i tell them, i don’t remember my training.

“but you’re alone up there. and radio signals are giving out soon”

why does every moment replay in my head, but more vividly than when it actually happened. why does my brain think it’s funny to repaint reds better than when i saw them? your lipstick, like a pastel, oil canvass. whites are whiter than ever. they’re almost blinding. dress like a fucking north star. twinkling with this coalescing ember. i press the buttons on the machine and i keep getting error messages. oxygen. check. gasoline check. heartbeat? morse code.

can’t make out what it says. it’s too complicated. dit dit dot, dit. ITS TOO COMPLICATED.

i woke up out of this coma, and nothing makes sense anymore. I’m just taunted by how beautiful my brain recreates entire galaxies. how brown jewels locked into mine and 4 coffee spheres would load up ungodly combustion within inches from each other. like magnetic, electric fire. are we describing planets, or eyeballs? outside? the world silent. space, an unfathomable, token of random poetic nature. but, 4 unbroken galaxies reading each other. 2 and 2. have you ever seen brown eyeballs under the sun? you should. they were embarking, and creating remarkable universes. and now I’m lost in one.

thank you

a letter to no one, or a letter to whoever i think i am, or was.

fulfillment is neat. it fills you up, inside, and out. your skin glows, you say hi more often, and sometimes the sun shines brighter than average. not, sometimes, but more so all the time. even on rainy days, you can see the sun. its hidden, but you know it’s there, and you smile and the sun reflects light off of those pearly whites. you ever have a sudden jolt of energy, not like coffee, or stimulant, but just because you’re happy? that’s it. at times, I’ll make the most out of my happiness because I know it’s short-lived. so i’ll drive around, ride a bike, do push ups, tell people they’re beautiful, and make sure they know i love them. when it goes away, then well; they’ll have to wait till’ next time. when you’re fulfilled, this isn’t even an afterthought. it’s just there and you use it and you don’t have deadlines or restrictions for happiness or smiles or kisses or dreams, hugs, wishes, desires, considerations, love, or companionship. you don’t have an hourglass telling you your times up, staring at you like the abyss. waiting till you slowly regenerate parts of yourself. now, I’m not wholly telling you the requirement or prerequisites for fulfillment and the goodies that are thrown in its path, nor am i acknowledging that it comes with everything listed. but, what I can say is that put your foot in the door; dont let it close. dear god, don’t let it close. that’s why my nails are short. outside there’s light you can look too, there’s a reason; whatever that reason is, is up to you. i used to think my happiness would stem from helping others, without helping myself first. i was brought up on a self sacrificial code of conduct, and to use my body and mind to bring fulfillment to others, as a vessel, partaking in nothing to rejuvenate it’s slowly decaying prized possessions. depreciating in value, with very little to offer after it has served its purpose; recycling bin overflowing with afterthoughts, asbestos and what couldve beens. wrinkles forming in the creases of my forehead, and ridges generating throughout this soulless visage. beautiful calloused hand carved depreciating asset, slowly falling apart, marble chipping off, corrosion taking its time to break down what the sun has slowly created over years. what light provided, in the beginning. in this statue you see a boys eyes tearing up, you look away and back to the statue again to see if what you saw was real. can a statue cry, move, feel? “i’m but a dying star” engraved in the rock. memories of a fallen hero fading through people’s memories. flickering between oblivion like broken conduit in a old warehouse. but we all disappear eventually, right? who am i to be so arrogant to believe i have a purpose? i used to think. apathy engulfing, and rage entrenching. miscommunication, and over analytical thoughts, negative emotions like envy, doubt, shame, fear, grief, guilt, frustration take their place on their pedestal and reign over barren wastelands, where verdurous pastures becomes obsolete. you need to kiss yourself, my dear. tell yourself you’re more than a brain in an armored mech. you need to stop allowing the furrows near your cheek to keep forming, for streams of tears from depression carve their way in them. you mustn’t let this happen. turn on your supercomputer and let it work to your advantage- falling into a pit of monotony isn’t what you want. it is your worst nightmare. and even though you slice through kudzu vines that grow around faster than you could chop away at them, you love the challenge. you pride yourself in temporary conquests of behemoths that soon use the seeds of brooding hell to spring back up stronger than before. using your i5 your i7, your i8, your i10, your i15, until your supercomputer can’t process anymore. it can’t keep up. please allow yourself to speak up for yourself without having to look at the floor in distress. counting molecules with x-ray vision, trying to ward away the anxiety. stop using your fist as a hammer to crawl out of shawshank. allow yourself to be vulnerable for two seconds before your masterpiece marble statue becomes a toppled piece of history no longer accepted in today’s society. allow yourself to bloom like the flowers you plant, and the plants you water- the ones you sing too, and patiently clean dust off of. dont allow yourself to hush yourself from crying so that no one hears you. i’m so sorry this happens to you. don’t look for the impossible because you want to feel human. please help yourself exist, you beautiful person. be star-studded. shine, glimmer between the edges. breath in death and exhale pollen. watch landscapes grow before you. i want you to do this, look at yourself in the mirror, and take a deep breath, learn how your body moves when you take that breath, tell yourself your flesh and bone, and not metal and programming. tell yourself it’ll be okay. it’ll ALWAYS be ok. even when it isn’t. you’re okay. i love you. its okay. don’t worry. it’s okay x20. keep saying it. touch yourself in what you think are your least beautiful parts. just dont give up. just do it. everybody knows you can. there is a man behind the machine, behind every mech that has been adopted by the belief of self-deprecation and abasement. let luminosity be a guiding force. sing twinkle twinkle little star, hum it. look up, and..thanks