she is bitter
I can see
I follow
as she walks again to the dark back of the building
where breaks are allowed
she attacks her cigarette
******* the smoke and hurling it out at the cold night air
our way is silence
now she knows how well I hide it
she knows I know
as our minds join at the top of her rising smoke
we await midnight
where our bittersweet passion
will find it's home

As the years pass, a part of its mind wonders what will
become of it.
A bystander forced to be a part of life's hectic,
unfair, and demanding ways.
A thing with no wits to fight out drawn, incriminating,
and unnecessary battles.
A speck of quiet darkness in the false, bright shine
of a store bought sun.
An organism desperately trying to blend into a crowd
where it  d o e s   n o t   b e l o n g.
(And never will.)
A piece of emotion attached to a living being, forcing it to
give a care about things that never last in its soul.
Too many feelings gone ignored,
Too many words left unsaid,
Too many expressions left misinterpreted,
Too many moments passing by in sunken tears.
Too many hands held out,
asking for things the organism does not know
how to give.
Too many demands made for
a piece of light that is being extinguished with time
and a mind drowning in pity and sorrow.
It is dazed and alone in a crowd of people
(no one to call to)
and watched under mistrusting eyes
at a place it is forced to call home.
It will gaze at a screen and bathe in falseness
for hours, just to scrape away the consciousness
of misery on its skin.
But every now and then, it must write incriminating
truths about a mind spiraling out of the light
to keep sane.  
(better to write than to harm others)
It has trouble smiling now, as its face melts and distorts
into crumpled pathetic excuses of expressions.
It stutters and leaves gaping black empty spaces, trying
to conjure up words that would seem  n o r m a l.
It would like to at any moment, break into a run
and feel its feet pound the cracked, gray pavement of the sidewalk
because anything would be better than having to
feel its mind breaking instead.
It would like to, at least once,
be able to dance without a flipping care over the
insecurities of its bent and oddly shaped body
and hands.
It would like to, at least once,
write without having its words prodded and graded and stripped down
and misinterpreted of their actual bare meanings.
It would like to, at least once,
live and smile and laugh and love
(yes, it quite loves to  l o v e)
without being judged or ordered about, without being
compared or displayed or placed on the limits of
people's ignorance and relentlessness in being at the best
at being the worst.
It would like to, at least once,
swim the waters of the vast ocean's life with the grace
and smoothness of a mermaid,
rather than struggle to keep its drowning head held above
dark, oily waters of bitterness and tears.
It would like to, at least once,
be kind enough to fly among sunset stained clouds in a peach horizon
and twinkle among the evening diamond stars,
rather than be ugly enough to no longer even be considered human,
taking on the form of a mere, existing  I T.

It was July of '64, I think
not long after a bunch of ******* sick with greed, hate and vengeance masked as patriotism  
blew the President's head off
I was trying to hold onto my childhood at 9
it became rather difficult after that
I saw that famous news guy take off his glasses and weep before the nation
on our 25 inch black and white Zenith
I looked at that guy like a dog looks at something completely askew
something not at all normal that has just entered it's world

I was outside, behind my house in Southeast D.C.
Anacostia
playing along the incline where the coal made it's way from the
old apartment building's basement window opening
there was always some that they would spill when loading up
to feed the giant furnace
Tommy Arthur, who had criminal written all over him at 16
his greased back jet black hair, Banlon shirts, baggy grey slacks and high-top All Stars walked by with a friend
stopped to light his Lucky Strike
and asked me to show him how I could jump from one tree to another
I had done it 100 times, no big deal
my chance to show off for the town's bad ***
I reached the top and took my usual look around
there was the roof of my house, Sam's Market on the corner,
Baby and her brother Stinky playing on their porch
Baby still had the cast on her leg from the car that sent her flying
She was running across U Street to make it safely to base during a game of 'hide and seek'
Stinky...trust me, you don't want to know why he has that name.
I turned toward the tree limb belonging to the tree that grew alongside this one
it was an easy jump really, not more than 4 or 5 feet
perhaps I was a bit too cocky
after all, this was Tommy Arthur
other than the upper half of my 2 middle fingers on the right hand
and even less of the left, nothing touched limb
I was woefully short
I saw ground coming quickly
laced with broken coal chunks and little else
I smacked the hill face first
awkwardly twisting slightly to the right just prior to impact
Tommy and his friend, mouths agape
respectfully asked if I was allright
just before leaving
instinctively smelling trouble
blood was shooting from an opening above my left eye
at the upper corner of my forehead just below the hairline
my white tee shirt was quickly soaked and bright red
It was quite a relief when the cobwebs cleared and I realized I was alive
and even more incredibly, suffered no broken bones as far as I could tell
seeing that I was facing no more than a few stitches to close a head wound
my attention now turned to what good use I could make of my horrific appearance
besides having a great story to tell my buddies

I started walking towards the backyard gate
which was just a matter of 20 or 30 feet
I thought about what I'd do once I reached the house
but it all played out perfectly
as I climbed the steps to the back porch
and slowly made my way to the kitchen just inside
I see Mom with her back to me and she's frying chicken
I slowly enter and remain poised just inside the kitchen entrance
after a minute or so she turns with a pan of frying *******, wings and thighs
she sees her youngest son with a fully bloodied tee shirt
and blood spewing from his head
a chicken wing flew past me and I believe cleared the porch
other chicken parts and grease were strewn about the kitchen, dining room
and hallway
I was shown little sympathy for my wound
and after some very intense cleaning up was taken to Dr Phillips for stitches
Dr Phillips was never surprised to see me

The scar remains after 53 years
I returned once or twice and drove past the house
and looked at those trees I had climbed so many times

on that July day in 1964
I had fallen nearly 3 stories
landed head first into hard ground
and walked home with no more than a cut
all logic says I should have broken my neck
but in my life logic plays a very small part

Surprised to find me in your lair
lucifer?
that look is unbecoming
yes
I am well aware of your wickedness
as are the Gods
they only shake their heads in despair
and send me to do their bidding
unlike yourself
I do not crave to bestow suffering
your death shall be brief
come now
did you really believe that your empire
built on the blood and corpses of the innocent
would come without retribution?
Sin
lucifer
is never overlooked
or eclipsed by power
power you will now relinquish for eternity
say goodbye to your precious hell
and hello to a new one
for your soul shall reside in the company of those you took
a rather fitting punishment don't you think?
is that fear I detect in the eyes of the great lucifer?
your presence is awaited with great anticipation
and I shall give them their prize