If I saw my grandma today I’d hug her and tell her I understand
I understand why words of affection fell from your lips like young birds unequipped to fly
Why I the love yous were more gestures than genuine
Of courses it was there, it had to be.
that need to remind that you choose life was your receipt for its price
Cause it cost you your youth and taxed your marriage
You meant well, but when you’re a straight shooter there’s bound to be miscues
How can you expect a kid to sail across troubled waters when their sails are clipped by sharp deterring words
Your eyes distant with lack of recognition but you expect connection
A gaze filled with disgust cause you look in the mirror and you don’t like what you see.
A reflection of you that can’t be recognized
Grandma who hurt you?
I know who hurt my mom, but who hurt you?

My thirst for stability is insatiable, often leading to the murkiest waters.
Amazing what desperation can do to the senses.
I sense she's not right for me.
I sense she's not light but rather shiny malleable foil, adhered to the cracks in my present needs.
My common sense screams the obvious, yet the vapid darkness of loneliness drowns them out.
I'm consumed by it all.
I'm consumed by them all.
I'm consumed by the fall. As I sink deeper, its only natural to cling to whats closest to me.
I greet the facade of you wanting more so openly but I know,
That when I'm home alone your body and energy will only appear to steal my time and company.
But I'll still open the door to you.
Merely your smell will blind me to the signs as taste and touch overwhelm us.
As I converse with your lips, not even my thoughts will be heard as we cry out.
And that bliss will be worth the silence.

O blessed night I am feared
For I am a black man who can't shake spears thrown at him on the daily.
High courts let us get clipped by Brutus- clipped by brutes in fact a loose noose can hang you from any platform
Oxygen doesn't transcend class
Eric wasn't the first nor last unable to Garner breath
I... Cant... Breath.
Bill Cosby's first words after sentencing
Sandra Bland's last thoughts before being propped up
I ride around my city feeling Gray inside, DEAD inside wondering if convenient transportation is worth my life.
Othello ruled this nation for eight years yet noble souls are still treated as peasants.
I mean if all the worlds a stage, then why do they play us only when we're players or when the play, us.

My eyes look dark because I'm filled with compressed rage and malice bursting through the white meat. Inner peace is as distant as dreams from nights passed. I wonder if my face reflects my mentality. Are the fibers gripping my jaw wound as tight as my gaze? Static silence is air displaced by my throbbing mind, aching from head on collisions with reality. I'm not who I think I am . Rather I know who I am and I'm enraged that I'm not who I want to be.. Or maybe its the fact I've always been that person but my pond never reflected my image. I can see me now.