As the language aids in communicating our similarities
Duplicating these unique isolated experiences
Detailing the nuance crevices in the porcelain blur
Moralizing Gods and reflecting design flaws
Finding a mortal prevalence

You attempt to un-speak your empathy
Cuffing your wild uncultured flares
Taking shade in poorly structured bravados
You drum your chest and imitate your father’s voice
Fear starts to take form, as intimacy starts to rust
You are not without love, it’s just peaceful in the void

You replay the conversations
nitpicking the words and intonations
Editing out your rogue sways
Caging the child between a rock and a hard place…
And you go “who says that”
You in your unrefined glory
Your cello-taped memory
You and your poor choice of words
You uncultured swine

One could argue that as you get older, you become a better stoic. Masking your whims, desires and pleasures with logic, reason and meaning. Taking the less scenic route, becoming more utilitarian and the stick that’s up your **** plunges a little further..

And What about the artist that emotionally abuses the kid within and constantly exploits its innocence. Strumming the strings of vulnerability for relatability. Lusting over Monet clouds as painted tears conjure real ones..

Apologies for the preachy undertone, I too buried my cornea in the conneries without a veil, with chin to palm Coveting a utopia. However The dance around the bugbear has since become medieval. I gave it a good hug, tears of tranquility as we initiate the coagulation..

But I need a good light, one that outdoes a good filter. Sending shadows to the creases of the crater. The eclipsed sun carves the frame for a Godlike aesthetic and then I forget to write. Sometimes I forget I’m alive.

You see Its all about balance
It is why there’s a God
And there’s a devil
Something to love
And something to rebel
The moon and the sun
The summers and the falls
You against the world, right ??

Because while you weren’t feeling pain you were grinning to skylines
While I wasn’t alone, I was hopelessly in love
I sang her name in the mountains
And cursed her in the valleys
Because while I wasn’t here
I was surfing other universes
Conversing with deities
Discussing human pain
The impossibility of world peace
Debunking the weave between creatives and depression
Drinking cocktail to mundane philosophies
And cringing at its inadequacies

Its the fibers that wrestled into pattern
A pigment too much
Hair left in the oven to burn
See I woke up this morning
Reminding myself why I’m nothing less than perfect
A standard for shallow magazines to dissect
My timeless symmetrical face
My poetic jaws
My lustful eyes
My perfectly aligned shoulders
My seductive accent
and my big ****

See I wrote you into a book
In this book, I made sure
I got your chubby cheeks chiseled
For eccentricity, I gave you light freckles
I toned up your skin because you were always so insecure about being black
I, I made your legs bowl, making every path you walk on a runway
I made your accent more American, you never did speak much, I wonder
I made you a hero, a character kids could look up to
Even if all you ever did, was save yourself..
I made you, you

But my x-factor or stand out behavior or artistic finesse was rather cliche
You tore down every shred of confidence before bed
A war fought with tears and muscle clenches
You called yourself ugly, worthless, idiot , you said you weren’t enough,
undeserving of the good life has offer, you dance to the madman’s song,
you danced until the sun came up
And then, what seem to be the residue of a fighting man or woman
You made a menagerie, a collage with the shreds
And you walked out, you walked like you made yourself

I like how your hair feels
I like how it doesn’t give in to the wind

I'd like to talk about curves
Twist and turns
Dented surfaces

Or talk about God
Childish wishes
Open caskets
Broken promises
Surfing on Universal energies
Deciphering the Poems in the music

I'd like to visit Paris
Everglades sawn grass Prairie
With my palms caressing softly

I need a mental picture of paradise
A motivational quote before bed at night
These nightmares stressing for a fight

I'd like to talk with my dad again
I need a map of manhood
I think I might be doing it wrong
......Or just tell him that I'm a proud son

I want to dance
Waltzing around things I value
With black leather dress shoes
Courting yellows from blues

Using old memories as punching bag
Thinking about that kid who wasn't punching back
Curved spine with a heavy backpack

I want to be here now
No captions, just sounds
.....and curves