and if i died today
no one would see
till the organs grew potent
and summoned them
to their senses, olfactory
and led them to the decay that is me
dead or alive
and unwanted

it's ok.
i'm prepared.

i can always make them come
though i can never make them stay
and when outliers do on occasion
i lie my way out till they lie back in line
and once again i can go about my isolation

i see the little girl wearing me.
puppy eyes, dogged tears
she's so ashamed of me
she says we've gone missing
in this world, she's all i've been missing
so i made her go.

and let the distance grow
because although i know she misses me
she doesn't know she misses nothing when i'm gone
and everything when i'm here too long

if not for the memory of her purity
i would contemplate my eulogy
so strangers i wish i knew
knew what to read before they buried me
     like i did with the little birdie
     earlier when she caught and told me
     that my little girl is wearing everything but me
     and that she makes them come
     ever since i made her leave
    
-

today is here.

- end

i fell in love at first sight
my heart was dancing till it stopped
it was all my fault

night after night
i sought life and pursued solutions
yearned to learn to go on to teach it
just how to reconvene all its pieces
with no help from neither

knight after knight
nor the world outside
and how to make its own beats
because taking beatings from strangers
is what put it to sleep after seizing

lethal sleeplessness
steered me wrong
and under its grip
i gripped its wheel and steered to collide

saw the road
switched sides
opposed signs

the alarmed neighboring cars'
bore honks resembling alarms
and in the midst of my insomnia
i was awoken to recall
that every eye
even in its prime

has a spot, blind.

- end

our masked master
has manipulated us masses
maneuvered its path in our minds' wires
mismatched them
and the only tool it uses is language.

when we hear its ring and rhyme
in voices we think are customized
as we vacillate with the waves place us
in elation--a space where we are stars
and even Eden's leads don't succeed
in leaving us or similar sheep
anywhere near
a state of such satisfaction.

so we pass it and overlook action
subject ourselves and check out our self-respect
to the delinquent library members
we subjectively deem handsome

the truth is never not vile
double minus signs.

but math has all the answers.
falling
+
overlooking
=
disaster

it can all be dismantled
but it told us
what it wants in regards to what we want
and our demands are instantaneously met
its compliance made us believe again
and we embark on a trip to power
seizing all that which we can
with its allowance

because of it, now we have
everything we
need
and
want
and
love

and we used to think with regard
but since it used us
it's our own thoughts we disregard
if we could recall the ones we had before
would we opt to head for similarly travelled roads
where we are both patriots and xenophobes

all moot notes
none of my words mule votes
it told us to, so we are
why should we try
if even our lazy minds compartmentalize
to save time as if we have lives
as opposed to its lies
all the while, it sees the truth

we keep the negatives boxed in
the truth is never not vile
double minus signs.

the clarity of our psyche
and the level of our blind intertwine
we used to drive but now why
when we have it to steer
as we sit obliviously
as it delivers
sip vials
give more homes and less lives
to our livers
breathe and supply loads of hope
when we clip loose weeds from the streets
and into our corrupt, vial-ridden systems
where our lungs are filthy prisons.

we can't see how crippled we are visually
because it's what we want
and feelings aren't things our eyes perceive
it can't be

we aren't who we want to be
only who we want it
to want us to believe
so we can hold on to the pass
all victims receive

without it
we would not want it
or want
or be.

love,
love.

- end

nothing to do.
nowhere to go, because i'm here.

levitating
if you take away these sheets
my legs are crossed
i'm alone, after all
the screen is off
because when it's only me
who's there to put on a show for

i feel one ankle touch my knee.
my other sole is right but blood is life
and it feels so cold on my purple-pink skin

this precisely is the type of moment in solace
that incentivizes my strike plate's flawlessness
it's unexplored
like the ****** groomed in preparation
for a very imperfect fiscal offer
made amongst four x chromosomes
we sometimes coin fathers

and really if you look closely
you'll know why i let them do to me
what i've struggled to do with myself
for so long. en-titled.

i pay the price whenever i free-fall
but a cold soul is something i can afford
given the flight down revives
late exhibitions of all the love i once had
that weighed so heavy but now acts
as the anchor where my frown is
what i should be
never lost and always found

and if i could
i would defy science
and gravity
in my psyche
and gladly glide downhill
perpetually to
feed fleeting feelings
before once more
i abandon control
and lose to
a-
void

- end

please,

i need restarting.

it's been such a feat
offing these viruses that offer me toxins
and we can only blame me
because i let them feed despite how they appear, unsightly
as the manifestation of this disease, progressive.

i'm not deserving of this distinguishing
for responsibility i'm relinquishing due to negligence
and incessant selflessness
synonymous with ignorance

and you...
you only dream of this type of recognition
dedication to your existence makes you far more deserving

but who pays mind to mundane, even if it's right?
though overlooking it entirely...  
that's how me's are made.

and once upon a time, i was.
but today, i am not alright.

-end

i hereby present  
this
sacrificial offering
to you and your kin
men of any skin
indiscriminate of ticks
hands, time spans, or dimensions

it never meant
much to me
to start with.
none of my organs
can play melodies
and boycotting churches
doesn't help much--
weekdays or ends

i'm weak in the end.
you'll feast nonetheless.
i accept.
condescend what's left.
because i comprehend
that i can't live with myself
regardless.

and why fight the taste of bitterness,
when i've never tasted success.

- end

here, world.
have these words.

it’s all for the better
i’m all for the worse

they're all bound
to come around
and rebound
some days from now
so what’s the worst?

don me a a player
of words
and an alphabet
about which
i could not care less
though in them is my worth
they’re the sole characters  
on which my transient existence depends…
how symbolic.

don't allow it
they’ll run out of artists and authors
when they realize they need to pay attention
to working on pay without paying on their end
so they pay homage and paint my pale face
and hang it up as they say grace and pass the pail, there's
a pencil in my left although i’m not right at times
hand it
although i've only used pen those times
grant it
to galleries long after i am gone
and my silent voice of self-defense that is read when i see red
is no more
and granted,
my flesh is dense, entrenched and soiled in worms and soil
and the sole consistency in my after and my life is my nonexistent soul

don’t let the gluttony go unnoticed.

for if there is a phenomena i despise more so
than broadway shows which broadly showcase
plain, feigned mythical “facts” amidst quotes
it’s the fact that
myth
has no purpose
but to extort
the 27 things i’ve ever known:
my mean letters and my enemy
long after i
am no more.