Tears come streaming down my face,
Wiping off my make-up
Tears are streaming down my face,
Am I good enough for you?
I don’t want to try anymore
I don‘t see the point
Will this be the end
The end of me?
When I jump, I want to fly,
Would be better than staying here
I can’t stand watching
Everyone leave
Why can’t I be alright?
Why can’t things be the way
They way I want them to, be?
I just want to be happy and
Feel like the other girls
With their glorious curls
and lollipop swirls
There is no crime in being kind
To those who find
That being kind
Is hard enough
When they can't even smile
Just for a while.
Oh Darling, Oh Darling,
I’m so sorry for this;
I’ve done you wrong so many a time,
Finally babe, it's my victimless crime.
Oh Darling, Oh Darling,
Need to apologize,
Realize I’m mad and bound for decay,
Need to tell you; the fleeting light of the day.
Oh Darling, Oh Darling,
I’ve lied, through these, my guilt,
Kneel here repenting, hugging your hips.
Start to break down, what was sobriety dips.
Oh Darling, Oh Darling,
I’ve done it all again;
You’re already aware of my past,
Your fears they will continued, here I relapse.
Oh Darling, Oh Darling,
I’m back to it, the past.
These scars and old wounds fester again;
I’m back in the dirt, like a dog in his chains.
Oh Darling, Oh Darling,
You’re forced to know this now;
I fought, and I fight, it’s gotten bad.
I broke, then killed a man, giving all I had.
Oh Darling, Oh Darling,
There was that look again!
You my rock, my only salvation;
Gone, apartment empty, at the bus station...
Oh Darling, you’re no longer mine!
I cry into a mirror, cursing my name;
Sorrow turns to anger, these fists to blame.
A crash, broken mirror, a home inflamed...
Oh Darling gone, Oh Darling gone,
I can only apologize with my life,
A true sacrifice to never enshrine...
And that is when time stood still
When I looked into her eyes
I found it hard to concentrate
That's when I realized
She must be some kind of detective
And I was the scene of the crime
Held up my hands in mock surrender
Now with her I'm doing time
time.
thats what they say will make me better.
that i just need to wait it out,
but what if i cant make it...
what if i am already crumbling
then how does time fix whats already broken?
time.
thats what it took to end up here.
that is what i used to destroy myself,
what i used as an ali....
partners in crime
stealing my sanity, innocence, life.
and time.
that thing people say will solve all and any problem.
the essence of my demise.
time betrayed me
time wont save me.
As dreadful as an eruption
Deceased like winter
Chest tightening
And fists clenching
As roses prick right in the throat
Used razor blade on one hand
And tabs of acid on the other
A vast and lonesome world
Population: one-half
Two mindsets coming in unison
Psychedelic tendencies, suicidal thoughts
Insanity occupying a dystopic atmosphere
Swirling smokes, colourful spheres
Intensifying a bloodshed scene
Three, two, one, a blue-green string cut
"Don't do it!" they yelled
"It's not worth it!" they said
But too late, Death grinned at their faces
No pulse, no heartbeat, no memories
No single presence of bliss
Just a cold, pale,
Lifeless
Body in the dark abyss
-djs
Arrow enters flesh
piercing, and then lodging
refusing to pass through
refusing to flee the crime scene
and because of its loitering
the holes created are also plugged
and its presence is not noted.
Then the hunter, catching up to the victim
grabs hold of the arrow
and pulls
the poor beast screams in pain
as blood flows from the now apparent wound.
The hunter speaks soothing words, holding out a hand
but the creature turns heel and flees
angry at the arrow
angry at the hunter
'tis a vain flight
behind it lies a brilliant trail of blood
and the hunter pursues.
Ah Cupid! Relinquish your quarry
and end your cruel prusuit
allow the red flow to ebb and cease
permit the scabs to turn to scars
and the animal to live on.
I wear the letters NYU sprawled across my chest as my individuality is asphyxiated.
Lungs choke under the weight of the added pressure.
The thought of college plus my complexion,
Equals complexed looks that ponder my intellectually-heightened direction.
Will you think a little bit more of me, with my conformity?
Attempts to better myself meet enough ignorance to even cloud the vision of God.
Segregation and alienation cause mental spasms the strength of lightening rods.
I guess you're just a product of the environment to which you were exposed.
But I'm always trying to fight the stereotype that black people are ultimately foes.
I am the ant and the kids of rich parents are magnifying glasses.
Cremating me with the solar power of son's who were taught that their existence was worth more than mine.
I lay motionless, in bottomless quick sand pits, itching to alleviate my stomach stitch, engulfed by set standards that could not be met.
I am tired of trying to be what you'd like to see.
Astute, respectable, young black man-just so you can approve of me and hopefully think that we are not all "up to no good."
Say it loud,
I'm black
And I'm,
Not going to lie,
The proud part is kinda hard to say.
Because I walk down the street and see my face in the homeless everyday.
I fill the prisons and I'm famous when the news reports crime.
And when I show up early to interviews,
they look confused to see that I,
Don’t run on Colored People's Time.
I don't hate black but I hate the fact that black means that sometimes I have to find alternate routes to success.
While other people's roads are already paved, I suffer from all the stress.
I try my best but I'm always categorized as less, then a man.
And I'm trying to change perceptions but I still feel like a visitor on American land
And the poor are physically trapped so I relate mentally.
We both suffer from the oppression and accept the hatred like it was meant to be.
Society has led you to believe that blacks are not worthy of equality
But take a long, hard look into my eyes and tell me that you don’t see my humanity.
Sometimes nothing bad has to happen
you just know something will.
Your bones shake
and you might faint
And your mind is scolding you
because you know this sensation all too well
It's another way for your heart to die
Cupid shoots his arrow
in through one side, out the other
and you just might have to
end it all.
But your head can lie
to your bones and heart
and you can commit your last crime
Like an addict trying to quit heroin
this is the time
I am experiencing the human condition
Or I would be, if I knew what such a thing was.
They say poetry is an art form designed to show emotion
emotion of course representing such a thing as a human condition
but my poem is broken
I must insert 25 ccs of suffering more,
50 ccs of subtlety more,
and 100 ccs of emotion more,
not to mention the 600 mg of lithium,
the 25 µg of Wellbutrin,
and the 100 mg of synthroid I put in myself.
But my poem is broken.
And if poetry is a form of the human condition
and I cannot form my poem
then I cannot form the human condition.
This is an inevitable factor in the world of man
most people tend to forget it, but it is so
the more I cut myself off from the world around me
the more I become what the world needs from me.
Then comes righteous silence.
Silence is golden but only in small amounts
Silence is only golden when the faux silver of duct tape must
simply not do.
Emotion is a human condition, but I must take the pills.
After all, if these pills are not effective,
they’ll simply electroshock my brain
in order to find my human condition
Who am I?
Why am I here?
Forget these questions--
hey, hand me another beer.
But surely--or Shirley--the animal crackers in my soup
are just as sick and tired as I of being a pawn--
afraid of the magic space wizard destroying us all--
they are just as afraid of the inevitable,
that indeed, everything all along has been true
and tis all forbidden
Afraid that perhaps the friendly raccoon’s intentions
are not so honest as they appear when we first move
to our new woodland home
Perhaps my animal crackers in my soup
are more afraid I will lose myself
as I stumble down the rabbit hole
looking for the man who burned down my home
only to discover he truly was the innocent
(In this crime, at least)
Or perhaps as I stare these pills down,
muting my human condition has come easier;
no longer am I attacked by strange men
for a golden woman carrying a blue staff
No long must I boldly proclaim
that I’ll go out through my kitchen
when indeed, for someone with my body
(human condition aside)
belongs there, if only to make a sandwich.
If only there was a dictionary definition in the back
of every high school textbook
and we are made to ‘put it in our own words.’
Defining what should be such a simple thing
should be rather easy then.
But nobody said it was easy.
We were all told that we were special
but I have come to the conclusion that
saying everybody is special is really saying
that nobody is.
And if nobody is special,
should not our own human condition be the same?
or is is simply that no,
humans are manufactured on a mass-produced scale
for the pleasure of those powers that be?
Yes, they have a tough game with tough rules,
and they’ll win (and I’ll always lose)
but am I a design flaw? Something wrong in manufacturing?
I’ve traveled to these human distribution centers
and there were many babies wrapped
in blue or pink cloth dictating from birth
a key aspect where the human in question
has no choice.
And their human condition has been dictated to them
but I paid no mind
(I ignored the stains on)
I allowed human condition to be dictated,
knowing most of these children will grow to be
a design flaw like me.
Lost.
Confused.
And waiting on a mother swan to come
and tell me I am beautiful, and indeed
I have been in the wrong place the entire time.
And as I left this distribution center
of humans, and the human condition
I asked myself
“What god would make this world?”
“What god would make this world
with so much suffering and pain and make us
unable to identify for fear of what will happen to us?”
“Was it an angry teenaged god who played a game
only to find that his friends were murdered around his ears
and he must have to build this universe by himself?”
“Was it a god who lived in a world all alone
only to hate any form of life beyond himself?”
And as I asked myself these questions
I prayed that it wasn’t true.
That maybe, this is just exclusive to my
inability to find my human condition.
It began quietly, as many things do.
In fact, it began while I was thinking of you.
The tears started to form in my eyes,
And my lungs became filled with a thousand sighs.
The tears then quietly streamed down my face,
And all I could think was, "Ha, what a disgrace."
So I sat there for a while with my face in my hands,
And all I could think was, "Ha, nobody understands."
It was then that my throat began to feel tighter and tighter,
And all I could think was, "Ha, I never was a fighter."
Eventually I began to quietly whine,
And all I could think was, "Ha, I was supposed to shine."
Soon I opened my mouth and let out a million silent screams,
And all I could think was, "Ha, there go my hopes and dreams."
Mere moments later I had cried my eyes dry,
And all I could think was, "Why?"
"Why did I waste so many tears,
On someone who has given me grief for years?"
"Why did I think you would've changed,
And not still be emotionally deranged?"
"Why do I put myself into this predicament time after time,
And think you won't commit another perfectly devastating crime?"
So I got back on my feet and wiped away all my tears,
And all I could think was, "Ha, it's time to be happy again for the first time in years."
