Perpetual occupation. Thoughts o’Disgust.

A path into oblivion. Who can we trust?

5% of the world population.

20%, prison population.

More thoughts. More of disgust. Despair. Hope? Less.

And less! Each day I think I forget. Its there.

Orange TV show personality.

As the leader of the free world?! What kind

of world is that? What am I supposed t’think?

Oh right. Because he’s free to tweet trash, garbage,

putridness, calling everyone out other than himself,

calling people dogs? That’s freedom. No thank you.

In the meantime, go fix your ******* self!

Before you try to fix everyone else.

follow your bliss-
my bliss?
Follow your heart-
the heart that is shattered?

selecting a single splinter?

you must trust yourself
you must know yourself

I lay my thread bare soul on the ground and stare.
shredded, tattered and dingy

yet still-
always seeking

what else must I do
To be me?
is this me?
or now?
Wait---

is this me?
-yet?

still when cornered like prey
contempt and remorse
oozes from my pores at once

You did this-
BUT YOU DID THIS TO ME!
how could you-
why would you?
what did I ever do to you?

it's me alone
distracting and attracting
always hiding- waiting to be found by the dense shadows on the outside.

duality
duplicity

my own back in which  repeatedly and magically stabbed
the stench of regret
wafts up knowing engorged nostrils
sting

I've pierced myself once again -
barely relinquishing a dab of the putridness, greedily turning and twisting the pain in my fists
wringing the sopping rag out
in hopes of just one more use...

with the always present possibility
of  finally spinning this life story
to gold

Travis
2/18/13

I am not
in control anymore;
unidentifiable powers play
with the furniture
of my brains.

I must go on
I tell myself;
there are things
that need to be done
but to what end?

Elements
*****
the putridness of pain's
existence
down the bows
of my sinking ship

as a scream
turns into a gurgle
before
it has really got underway.

You find me waxing the floor
with my hands and some spittle.
A mirror of you,
papertrails and clips of words
brush aside gurgles of incoherent thoughts.

Midnight comes too late, bewitching
the deep lines on my face as your
hands wash clear the blood and putridness
of another
                      long,
                                   buried
                                                    day.

By:: Cedric McClester

From slavery time
Through  blacks who got lynched
The putridness of racism
Has carried a stench
Straight to the injustice
We receive from the bench
Which has been like
A lead pipe cinch

I don’t know what
It’s gonna take
For a black man or woman
To catch a break
Although it’s overdue
For heaven’s sake
It’s time we got
From under the rake

Now that the protests
Have gone ballistic
And there’s reason for us
To be optimistic
We’re tired of being
Just another statistic
So hope finally seems
To be realistic

These appear to be
Changing times
We see all around us
The  paradigms
Cops now are accountable
For their many crimes
Smart phones are everywhere
Steadily dropping dimes









Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2020.  All rights are reserved.