I remember these long
drives
down the African coastline
all our belongings shoved
in the back
with the smallest of us
I'd figured then
that she could not reach me
the sheer distance would
break this horrible bond
from that woman
I felt as though I was a fugitive
running, but chasing at the same time
chasing something that could
love me
right.
it was the first time then
that id realized
that.
that I was running.
along the African coastline
the open ocean collects
warm bodies and such
trash and all alike
I remember stepping on cigarettes
ash and butts
along the African coastline
we march and roll slow like
those cigarettes
I remember that beautiful ocean
not threatening at all
just powerful in its beauty
Somalia will love me
Somalia will cherish me
Somalia will not **** me
for I am among the others
now
but how I was wrong
even then, even there
she could still reach me...
for she was inside of me
anyways
buried deep in my mind
like a parasite
and I was her host
for this evil.

these memories haunt me always
my knees begin to shake
I can't find the off-switch to this terror
when I sleep and when I wake.
these voices are too kind to me
telling me to die
I deserve much worse and more
and all they want is a goodbye.
I waste this time away and rot
because I cannot seem to speak
when all these words are stuck up there
and my mind becomes too weak.
too weak to say anything at all
to speak any truth or meaning
I am paralyzed by all my friends
left to all but my breathing.

these bindings hold me fast and tight
I remember, in this bed of blood
my friends dance around me in a jest of rage
but only I can see them.
there is screaming, my own
and that of my feathered king.
there is fear and a music like a plea
for me to run, and hard, to leave.
what shrill beggings may echo in the dark
and little joy shall they reap
instead, they are met with the same harsh reality
and from this, many memories they will keep.

I cannot stand the mundane atrocity of this life
my feathered arms know not how to fly in
the midst of this cold darkness
I am ever so bored by its marchings
dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn
sunset to sunrise and back again
my mortal mind is chained to a mortal heart
which beats with everlasting harmony
to the thickening of my blood
and the rotting of my soul
what many masks lie beneath
that sorrow-stricken face of mine
only to surface when the need truly arises
which is always
in this inept society full of wandering mask-wearers and
kindred dying hearts.
what can one do without a mask?
not much,
not much at all...

my confessions come in cups
filled to the brim

my quiet rage is not so quiet
anymore

my grief runs through my torn up veins
so i can see it pour

out into a muddy street
where passerby will shake from fear

of this feeling, all consuming

god help me now to climb this
hill  

with weathered, cut up feet
so i can summit my own

destiny

he takes my wrists
into his fists

and sets me on fire.

he takes my clothes
its me he chose

he never seems to tire.

i think about yelling
i think about telling

but only whisper no.

my clothes are gone
my mind is done

i really want to go.

i write too much
probably
but its the only way i know
how to speak.
my words don't come out
properly
in normal conversation
i say mean things
i try to get a rise out of them
but i don't ever mean what i say

its hard to cry in front of people
but that's all i ever do
and leave feeling like maybe
i'm too much
and not enough
at the same time
like maybe i've overwhelmed them
with all this pain
and now they have more than
they ever signed up for


its hard, these things....