I Wear The Mask

For my own sorrows
my heart is heavy.
I don't give a damn what you are going through.
Constantly I'm faced with motivation
but no follow-thru
And 90 lbs later
I'm trying to melt it all away with voodoo
Concocting my anticipated happiness
with cayenne lemon and molasses
And he loves me
but I don't love myself
I felt that if I could turn knobs
I could acquire wealth
But unless I'm at the mic
I'm really only turning my stomach.
Repulsed by the days
and the weeks before May
when I grace that graduation stage
Family from the windiest chillin at Armstrong
dazed by the thousands of smilin faces.
Thought I could replace them by temps
But HU families have ripped my heart
more than my sworn enemies' whips.
At least my foes had been identifiable.
Now "family trips" dance around
awkward bits where
no one knows who's really brother or sis
So I attempt to shrink into nothingness
But I'm hard to miss.
Now after all this is said and done
My 1st solstice spent with degree in heart
shows no promise of independence.
God says don't worship worldly possessions
But She should know I need a place of my own
Alone
I am left with no veil
of my so-called unnatural cravings
My unhealthy addictions
My afflictions
Afraid of what my God will say
I couldn't hear Her anyway
...Leading into my own interpretation
I sway
Rocking back and forth
As teardrops illuminate my pity parade.
But all anyone ever sees of me
Is the life of the party.
Poetic mind and a clown face.

Ice Cream

I would make love to you
Like ice cream dripping
Hands sticky
Sweet
…I like it with caramel
Swirl
Aftertaste
Sweet tooth insatiable
Like after the 1st kiss
I remember it
Raining
Mind fluttering still
Butterflies kissing my cerebral
Whispering your name
And for years
I quieted them
Hands fluttering still
Thinking of grammar school embrace
Still
Feeling you
Smelling your neck
And I know that when I see you again
I’m gonna love you like ice cream

Poetry is my best friend. In poetry is the only place where I am completely honest. Sometimes calculated. Sometimes not. Sometimes complete. Sometimes schizophrenic. Poetry never judges me or offers an unwarranted opinion. With poetry, I am always in control.

But when I share this poetry…my best friend…with others, I am vulnerable. The lack of reciprocity in my life…my fears, vices, forbidden emotions, disregard of social norms, the things that REALLY make me happy…it’s all exposed and offered over to an uncontrollable, unpredictable, instigating audience. That was the issue I had with judges scoring my performances with scoreboards. But they were strangers. What’s really heart-wrenching is when someone you truly care about is judging you with his or her facial expression and body language (verbalized praise or discontent is ALWAYS calculated and patronizing).

I remember once, butterflies and all, I revealed myself to a seemingly promising beau…he ended up being death personified…I think he jovially played house with at least five of the seven deadly sins. So now I’m supposed to speak you my thoughts… share with you my best friend like it’s the first time…butterflies and all…like I’ve never been hurt before…hmm…

Nurture


Seeing God in every granule
I run my feet through the sand that He’s given to me
And I’m so pleased that on today
He’s laid me in his arms of sun rays
And is singing his song with the waves