O blessed night I am feared
For I am a black man who can't shake spears thrown at him on the daily.
High courts let us get clipped by Brutus- clipped by brutes in fact a loose noose can hang you from any platform
Oxygen doesn't transcend class
Eric wasn't the first nor last unable to Garner breath
I... Cant... Breath.
Bill Cosby's first words after sentencing
Sandra Bland's last thoughts before being propped up
I ride around my city feeling Gray inside, DEAD inside wondering if convenient transportation is worth my life.
Othello ruled this nation for eight years yet noble souls are still treated as peasants.
I mean if all the worlds a stage, then why do they play us only when we're players or when the play, us.

My eyes look dark because I'm filled with compressed rage and malice bursting through the white meat. Inner peace is as distant as dreams from nights passed. I wonder if my face reflects my mentality. Are the fibers gripping my jaw wound as tight as my gaze? Static silence is air displaced by my throbbing mind, aching from head on collisions with reality. I'm not who I think I am . Rather I know who I am and I'm enraged that I'm not who I want to be.. Or maybe its the fact I've always been that person but my pond never reflected my image. I can see me now.

I have a vision of you. Theres excitement in your eyes. Your toes are writhing in ecstasy to rhythmic cadence. The song you sing as I play your instrument makes for a sweet melody. Your back arches like radio waves with each note as I stroke the deepest cords. Playing your song to end, chin deep as I bathe in the applause.. I think it should go something like that.

~I'm on my way home.
Memories greet me with a firm handshake, forcing my fist closed like pride, or rather pride closed my fist cause I've learned that my self defense was a defense of self.

~I left three days ago, and no one seems to know I've gone.
Well my heart left long before I did, as my ventricles began to vet the blood around me crying in vain "it poison us".. And they did with contradictory messages  restricting my confidence to a cell while wondering why I couldn't be positive.

~Home is where the hatred is. Home is filled with pain.
My past walks with me like shadows. It haunts my every step, ingrained in my soles. The many pieces I've had to carry to be some semblance of whole. An architect of my own happiness I've finally started building myself from ground up.

~So it might not be such a bad idea if I never, never went home again

The possibilities that light up a skyline seem endless.
There are so many outcomes. So many ways a life can turn without any inclination its right or wrong.
A glimmer could be a diamond shining through just as easily as it could be fools gold, or more specifically disappointment, reality's favorite trap.
All the lights are close enough that I can hold them with my gaze.. but I cant touch them.
They are the stars of my existence.
In this moment my only certainty is seated at the edge of the sidewalk 39 floors below.
Just waiting for the weight of my soul to pry my hands from the balcony that has me perched in a way that's reminiscent of the Titanic.
The pressures of the world weigh down on us all but in this moment, gravity is quite appealing.
Such a permanent solution to a fickle picture.
Even as I prepare to etch my last words with broken bones and blood and confusion and tears, my robe hangs over the rail for someone, anyone to pull me back.

I am the sharpest of double-edged swords with a soft handle.
Handle with care is a phrase that applies to the wielder rather than the victim. Its the cuts at self we're not ready for.
With emotions that can't be named because they're too intense; a horcruxed soul is the result.
Pieces that seem whole on their own without giving the full picture.
Rage, a flame only captured by the restraint of my skin, is natures monster yet its only a consequence.
What sparked the kindling wood?
Its hard to understand the discomfort of shoes you haven't walked in.
A bold yet reserved soul.. receptively ignorant.. emotionally invested while all the same detached.
You can feel the vibe but you can't feel me.
Struggling with being comfortable enough to expose my naked soul while racking my brain for the armor to shield you from the truth.
Sadly the possibility of sailing off without end is not likely.
I am chained to the anchors that are me in all their entirety.
We could try go forward but we wouldn't go far.
Our only accomplishment may be displacing grains of sand.
Funny but serious, a dreamer and a realist, stubborn and completely engaged while passive and fleeting.
All these spices and ingredients blend but can be too strong for one meal called cliche.
Guess the question is, can you stomach them?

What are scars but life lines engraved in my hands, etching across my skin, imprinted on my mind
Ink stains on my slate
Dark shades seared across my face
Permanently skewering my sight.
I squint so hard to see the light my eyes turn red and still nothing
I cry my heart out and see nothing
I light cause a lights my light.
It’s just easier to spring when a cherry blossoms

We are forever authors till we're not.
We write every constant and every vowel, every verb and every noun, every tick and every tock.
Every moment of every day to the second.
A self published autobiographical series entitled anticipation.
Some chapters are longer than others.
Some filled with triumph and perseverance while others may be drowning in disappointment but no matter what happens we write.
Footnotes at the bottom of every page pushing into the next; formulating the action on the next page even the next chapter.
The only problem is, we don't know what we're writing. It'd be easy if our actions alone fueled every moment and decision in our lives but that's not the case. Rarely do we forge history.
For the most part, we react to it.
We can only reflect on what was written after the ink dries on the page; hoping that we live long enough to author our own endings.
Hoping that someone would read our books and see them as inspiration instead of a cautionary tale. Praying we at least get to finish.
You don't want to be the one whose....

Time stops when your losing sun.
The days always shorter than the night.
You can hear the hands pushing against the present like children on the 25th, inside a little gift hits the box like tick... tock.
That sound stretches slowly to hide the silence.
A reassurance that your reality is what it is.
A minute takes a minute, a week feels infinite, a month feels like twelve,  you've lost yourself in a year.
Time stops when your losing sun.
A storm can last four seasons.
Darkness can make you feel like an ant.
An ant in a storm. hmmm.
An environment where a drop of water can drown you, trap you in a gravitational orb with practically no way out.
If air could be happiness your drowning.
Your view is getting darker as it all fades to black.
your last gasp in vain as reality fills your lungs.
Then darkness.
Your sun has set.
The light is gone.
Time.... stops.

She can't understand why I've always kept my defenses high.
Angered at the notion that her walls have been broken in every way.
You see, physical attraction goes so far,
and while metal connections tug our hearts,
roadways to our souls are filled with potholes they don't share the same lanes they're filled with detours from paths closed off.
She rushes to me like waters only to be greeted by a **** out of frustration.
"Why can't you get the message.. I don't want to have to answer questions
Its not my intention to leave you guessing its just that insecurities won't let me relieve this tension and,
why would I even mention whats beyond comprehension you think its simple to let you into my temple?"
I could paint.. murals to show what I've been through but regardless of the window you still wouldn't see through the pain...
Meanwhile I'm stuck looking at past chapters of my life to torn to turn a new page.
There's nothing to gain from omission, but there's more to lose with each word I mention.

What is the measure of a good tree?
Is it how tall he stands?
Is it how thick and long his trunk is?
Is it how deep his roots spread?
Is it how little he bends to the wind or how he weathers the rain?
Does any of that even matter?
Are these ingredients necessities or icing on the cake?
Truth is no matter how tall he stands,
or how deep his roots are,
or how long is trunk is,
or how little he bends,
or how many environments he's weathered,
..none of it will matter.
His branches could stretch to the sun but if he doesn't have any leaves he won't measure up.
Cause whats the use of a tree that doesn't provide any shade?
Why wait for his winter to end when there's another who's forever green?

If I saw my grandma today I’d hug her and tell her I understand
I understand why words of affection fell from your lips like young birds unequipped to fly
Why I the love yous were more gestures than genuine
Of courses it was there, it had to be.
that need to remind that you choose life was your receipt for its price
Cause it cost you your youth and taxed your marriage
You meant well, but when you’re a straight shooter there’s bound to be miscues
How can you expect a kid to sail across troubled waters when their sails are clipped by sharp deterring words
Your eyes distant with lack of recognition but you expect connection
A gaze filled with disgust cause you look in the mirror and you don’t like what you see.
A reflection of you that can’t be recognized
Grandma who hurt you?
I know who hurt my mom, but who hurt you?

My thirst for stability is insatiable, often leading to the murkiest waters.
Amazing what desperation can do to the senses.
I sense she's not right for me.
I sense she's not light but rather shiny malleable foil, adhered to the cracks in my present needs.
My common sense screams the obvious, yet the vapid darkness of loneliness drowns them out.
I'm consumed by it all.
I'm consumed by them all.
I'm consumed by the fall. As I sink deeper, its only natural to cling to whats closest to me.
I greet the facade of you wanting more so openly but I know,
That when I'm home alone your body and energy will only appear to steal my time and company.
But I'll still open the door to you.
Merely your smell will blind me to the signs as taste and touch overwhelm us.
As I converse with your lips, not even my thoughts will be heard as we cry out.
And that bliss will be worth the silence.

The bell rings and its time for lunch.
As I approach the doors I need opened, my steps are halted by a list.
ATTN: For a seat at the table bring your own plate, utensils, and food.
Question?
For how long will I starve before I can sit among those near, those those opinions I hold so dear.
When you call me a peer I see its because you think I'm looking at your plate.. At what you have.
Correction, my envy is of my future self not those who's legs and elbows are easily displaced.
But don't worry, its fine, I will return soon enough.
I'll have my degree in hand ready to wipe the crust of unpolished thoughts from my lips
Food in my bag ****** from a ****.
Plate and fork in the next carved from the bones of the opposition.
Don't worry, I will be ready!
Raise your standards and I will meet them.
this is the last time I will be denied access because nothing you do will take away what I've earned.