My bedroom walls are pink.
Why don’t you believe me?
Am I a liar? White lies don’t count do they?
Its storied in IG anyway. Follow and like please …

But dear, oh dear, I’m sorry,
I forgot you are blind.
Why, you asked, do I want the world
to know my walls are pink?
Oh, its just so me, and isn’t being something
a thing in the world these days?

Anyway I'm your eyes in this world
If you can't believe me in trivials
how can I tell you of other things?

I continue to write words
And toss them out into space
Angrily flinging the ashes
of emotions my nerves
refuse to bury
Shout them at walls
SHOUT LOUDER
can they hear me?
Slingshot them towards the stars
So the scrambled letters
can be dwarfed
by their brightness
And by the brilliance of
others who also write
Their words appear
on pages next to mine
This confuses me
SLINGSHOT THEM FURTHER

Passover or Easter or Happy Any Ole Thing, Sam I Am

she
asks me good naturedly
which to wish me - a happy this or that
and a poem’s immaculate conception is instant arisen arising
hot ****

rueful smile and unruly reply
a solid out loud Ha!

neither either or he writes and so believes

for I am a god loving man,
whom we’ve -Him/It/Me have agreed
that I may call
Sam I Am
and the answer to your question is
why not

for most quests and questions can be well-answered
why not!

my genes my historical beings my ancestors and my issue
all declaiming that I am a jew who left egypt, no defaming, a slave to no man who cannot love another like his own self

but some in all that I write, this deity boss slips in quietly unseen in one of his jokes-on-us-disguises like singing ave maria

and thus whose to say
his rightful name, is not
Sam I Am

my choice and the big D
     (a self-employed informal his choice, nom-de-guerre)
has agreed via his acknowledgement in his normative style of
low volume taciturn tacit acceptance

so wish me a u happy
anything you want-to-call-it-day

don’t matter. but know this u were there
when, all on that happy day where, @ the manger,
when this Sam-Approved-Appeared
poem was born and Sam blessed it with a
hot ****!

she laughs, tosses back in my face, some schematic I
prior penned that I can’t recall the when or where or my
nom-de-guerre employed but fits this ex-slave perfectly

“there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth”

If you heard my head
you'd know what's right
because you're the only thing
that won't let me sleep at night

I love you
I can't help
missing you
you're the only thing on my mind
and now all is left
Is missing you