headstrong is a simple word. Impulsive, touchy, emotionally-driven-
you tell me to grow up and stop acting like a child and yet you decide to
perpetuate a situation that actually makes you look immature. Funny, cuz
on one hand, you didn't want to act childish but then you turn around,
carelessly spill random details in the hopes to look good. An attempt to be
ratified. You want the upper hand, but in doing that you've made your
inferiority clear as day. I would explain this to you further sweetheart but
the warning signs all say "do not dive headfirst into shallow waters."
even if you were worth the time and effort, I haven't the heart or patience.

Small people aren't measured
By their height;
That's not right!
We dread
The small-minded;
The bigots,
The ones of two minds -
The one they share,
And one they hide behind.
One face we see,
The one to please.
One hand held out,
Unembossed,
The other unseen,
Fingers crossed.
They're high in stature,
But small,
In matters.

When I found out
about your little game.
I laughed.
First in anger,
then in spite.
It was so very petty after all.

Your big persona
clothed in a bespangled mantle
of hypocrisy and loyalty
came apart
just like you did
when things began to crack.

Your hands
capable of spinning rifles
and commanding cadets
failed to handle me
in all my complexities.
I do not fault you for that
after all it takes a strong man
to be with a strong woman
but i do fault you
for the veiled hypocrisy
you showed at every turn.

You questioned my loyalty
insinuated at flirtations
flaunted your jealousy
Yet behind my back
all the while
showed honeyed intentions
to the girls in your tracks.

You gave me up
like an unhousebroken puppy,
that had bitten
your tremendous ego.
Citing your love for me
and your good intentions
while all you wished for
was to roam free.

When I figured out your little game
I laughed
first in anger,
then in spite.
But now,
when I think of your game,
I do neither
because the games of small men
no longer interest me,
and neither do you.

Say a prayer for the farmer
who has been long pushed away
walk until you find your comfort
in night's fog of minds maze
Ask forgiveness for hypocrisy
as we look into this dark sky
remember blood shed paves way
our souls will never ever die

And so I told them they can tell me,
That sharing wouldn't be a problem.
Assured them that whatever be,
I will be here for them.

I said many things, big and small,
Comforted one and all.
For if someone will break down and fall,
I'll be responsible for their lost soul.

Be this, be that,
Be whatever you want.
The problem's nowhere's at,
Just let it lie flat.

One thing I forgot though,
Is listen to what I was saying.
Apparently, my words are my foe,
And to them I am losing.

A slap to oneself,
A blow to one's ego.
Never be shy to cry for help,
Yourself do not forego.

Someday, I will smile a genuine a smile,
A smile that will be pure, true and heartfelt.
I will wear it and travel miles and miles,
Wear off those in the past I felt.

Someday, I will be truly honest,
I will tell you how I really am.
That if back then you saw me at my ‘best,’
You’ll know I’m not really ******.

Someday, I will stop my hypocrisy,
And save myself from being a casualty.
Someday, I will be happy.
Someday, I will truly be happy

I turned water into coffee this morning
and sat by the four corner light box
while reading a book
that taught me not to judge it by its cover.
The twisted crooks
that the story entails
the end trails of coke heads
that still drop slowly down the walls of
East Harlem.
I turned water into coffee this morning
and sat by the four corner light box
and all of its massive holiness
creating a halo around my entire body
without fearing a bullet would come rushing in
and **** me dead
I sat and read of another universe where
life and love still exist
but in a way I could not bring myself to condone
I turned water into coffee this morning
and sat by the four corner light box
with a dark shadow created by the backlit room
safe and in place
just wishing I was one of the twisted crooks
the story entailed
with my end trails in a little more danger
than when
I turned water into coffee this morning
and sat with the purity of my whiteness,
by the four corner light box
while reading another universe
and doing nothing about it.

You want true expression, and true honesty

Or so you claim

You don't want the heat that comes with a call for the flame

You don't want to be enveloped in the purity of anyone

I hear you ask for honesty, and I know you don't want it

You want facsimiles, you want approximations, but truth is not for you

We have ego strokes, crutches, blinders, confused priorities

We have people set in their ways, and idealists lacking perspective

I want truth, I want life to blossom unfiltered, raw, and untouched

But if we can't even agree on medicines for diseases

If we can't even agree on who to let live

who to nurture

what to be upset about

Who to feed

When the answers are clearly spelled out

How do you expect me to feel like you even want truth?