Introductions are never easy.
Mousy boy.

Chains.
Ankles shackled.
Lungs rattle, relentless battle.
Loose phlegm, filling falling castles.
Under no pretense.
Moat; a barrier of defense.

Where voice is a drawbridge
Oscillating flow.
Open bandage.
Darkest window.

When did the measure of your worth become a brand?
Banded sneakers, streaking vibrance,
vibrating mobile nuzzled in hand.

These do not make you.

Backward cap, for a new era,
sagged pants, swagger stance
for this hoodlum hoody wearer.

These do not make him.

Gucci bags and other tags,
designer purse, cursing contraband,
fake names make her gag.

But these do not make her.

They say don't judge a book by it's cover,
so why a person by their assets?
if it were asserted by another...

Belongings do not a person make.

Kindness, courage, compassion, heart,
personality, wisdom,
even a love of art.

These a person make.

Take some time to introspect,
inspect the way you see yourself,
You'll be happier for it I expect.

You make the person.

Does my time come? Reaper standing blinking,
I like to think I died overthinking.
Excellent at excelling the ceiling
of believing thoughts, to life I'm breathing.
Not comfortable but familiar,
my sweeping leaving thought: 'I'm out, see ya'.

Because I've grown accustom to dwelling,
on scenarios, in my mind yelling.
Yellow bellied lizards, listing in lisp,
elder trees tapping branches. Once more! 'Tisk'
Judgment daisy is here, with it's cold cheer,
passing by plausible baubles, why here?

So that's it, gone, done, dusted, broke, busted.
Esoteric to the last, brain's rusted.
I'll join stars, atomic consolations,
constellations racing for their placings.
Childs play maybe, yay the triumph of toys?
Oh. No. I think a light wave. Yes. White noise.

I watch you sleeping,
Impossibly long eyelashes, black as rooks
flutter against yesterday's sun blushed cheeks,
small digits twitching,
right thumb firmly in mouth
suckling salt soaked skin.

You are the sea my boy,
the earth, the moon and stars.

I sip at my coffee,
eyed by Spiderman
as the Joker grins
and the Riddler envies Dr Seuss.

This moment is perfection,
a little bit of calm
before the tornado hits
with the blue of your eyes.

A whispered
call to prayer
across the pillow
my muezzin
your adhān
awakens me
to the sun
a new day.

I rise and kneel
in worship
in supplication
I hasten to you
my confession
in adoration
I vow, I bow
to please you.

r ~ 6/23/14

I sit on a swing
Unstable and free
I slide through the air
No one notices me

I sit on a swing
With a noose on my neck
The seat falls out
My life was a wreck

They put up a swing
To remember me by
The swing never swings
Their act was a lie

The tree crushed the swing
They cut that ***** down
My memory is gone
But my ghost is around

Stormy weather is God's way of saying we could have done better
Or tried harder
The sound of breathing is just the rhythm
Undoing all the potential I used to have
I hide under my covers hoping that my fears
Are as afraid of the dark as I am
My smile is just the curve of the lies I tell myself
“Everything is going to be okay, one day.”
I might be sleeping two hours a day
And that’s a long time
To be with someone you don’t like and doesn’t like you back
Or maybe it’s because I’m scared of what my self-concise might tell me
In my dreams
The alarm clock that illuminates my room reminds me
I’m not on time for being myself.
I missed being who I wanted to be
A few years ago
And I haven’t caught up
It reminds me of how far I have to go and how little time I have left
Sometimes I have to let a tear fall, to remind myself
I’m alive
Every day I memorize my name
So it wouldn’t sound weird as I talk to myself in the mirror
I want my name to sound like something I can be proud of
We are our own heroes and until we realize our strength
We’ll bend at the knee to heed the directions of people
who know us less than we know ourselves
It seems impossible because when I cry I have to no idea why
When I laugh I don’t understand that
I’m the joke
Like a clown without makeup
Like the girl sitting in the back of class: self-conscious about her bad hair day
I love the mess because it’s how I really feel and at least
She’s brave enough to embrace it and face it.
I simply hide behind my shower curtain of indulgence and cowardice
Unfortunately, I’m not very fast and my problems are catching up
I’m throwing up my hands in shackles
Limiting my ability to wipe my tears
After 23 years I understand we’re all kids in adult clothing
Trying to fill our baggy pants with our own pride and big egos
We have neck ties of lies we tell others to fell a little bigger
Stripped down to loose shorts we con show the tattoos of humility
We weren’t ready to show
And unable to let go
Make it through the night and look outside
The sunrise is simply God’s interpretation of what our dreams may have looked like
He does it because we can’t remember the details

Sometimes the crayon breaks in the middle of your drawing
That doesn't mean you stop; blend your sun-rays into skylines
You'll look like Van Gogh seeing
Setbacks as opportunities to find
Beauty you never would have thought to look for