A shape shifter.
A transformer.
Everything you fear.
Change.

The unknown is
a scary place,
a scary thing.

Do you know who I am?
Do I know who I am?

Would someone please show me
which home is my place,
which family my own,
which lines I should trace?

Every contour on my face,
every word that I utter.
It is all you.
And that’s scary.

Why does it scare you?

Because I am a stranger, and your homie.
Your son, and your enemy.
I am all that you were,
and all that you will be.

You want to embrace me
as your child, your kin.
But I’m different, a little
too complicated to fit in.

You wish for things to be simple,
the son whose identity is set in stone.
So I travel these unbeaten paths alone -
As you close your eyes to me,
a child who barely knows part of his family.

I look to you to help define me,
and still you refuse to see,
even as your memory is stirred by me.

Your mind pushes me
to the back of your head
but your heart won’t let
you forget who I am,
and so I’ve grown,
the invisible boy,
soon to become
the invisible man.

Some days you simply wonder,
and life seems more an illusion, and
all those heavy questions drive
your mind into diffusion.

Your reason screams “yes,”
while your sleepless conscience
tells you otherwise.
So which is telling truth,
and which is telling lies?

As you struggle to pick,
you start to realize,
you’ve made a wrong choice -
a part of you died.
This choice about me
could never be wise.

So which shall you follow,
your heart, or your head?
Don’t be too quick on the take -
You might make a worse
nightmare of your bed.

To see the unseen
is a complicated thing.
Many have said that
with knowledge comes pain,
And I assure you that
seeing me has consequences.

So you whisper, “ok”
Your curiosity parched
For the knowledge that quenches,
As it tugs at your core,
A million tight wrenches.

I will see you
Is your tardy demand!
And a transient being
Lifts his transient hand.
Where this unveiling takes you,
You intend to land.
You’re facing your demons,
You’re being a man.

So who is behind
the mask, you ask?

It’s me,
An interracial boy.
A melting *** of culture, and color,
A child who won’t accept the word other.
Not molded from one sole identity cast,
Destined for eternity to sculpt my mask.

I guess that it’s time
to find a place in the sky.
Have you ever been so tired
of trying to ask why,
that you just began running,
and you never looked back?
Chasing this forever
down abandoned tracks.

Life is but a country club.
Weren’t you invited, dear?

Intelligence quotients and aptitude tests,
sorted by layers of filters and ciphers,
to justly court the consummate lifers.

Are you qualified?

The waiting list is growing,
and the company is getting anxious.
Shall we take on some new members,
or watch the squirming a little longer?

Think about it this way,
if you aren’t qualified -
You can always try upstate.

What a lovely estate!
A half-smoked cuban cigar,
and a watchman at the gate.

No, you can’t trust the man
who got lost in his mistakes.

He is untrustworthy.

Do be a doll though, Cindy,
and send a nice postcard.

This man that moves in front of me,
He must know something more than I.

His steps are sure, his limbs are spry,
He’s not afraid to say goodbye –

To the noise of his native metropolis,
Or the bumbling bees amidst Versailles.

He’s searching night and day, of course,
For the summer song of the harvest fly.

See me, I’m just an average guy,
Who spends his time in the countryside.

So as I stumble on concrete streets,
The city beats in warm July;

While the traveling man’s gaze on the fading sky
Obscures his view of the lonely cowpie.

The bottom line: You've sold.
Not because you’re not
with me, more because
you’ve settled, low.

No more soliloquies on jerks;
either accept that type,
or leave them alone.
For the record, these are just my thoughts,
letting my dome roam, like Tony Romo
on a fly pattern to T.O.

I would say this -
If you want to talk about Man,
and his naturally DOGmatic nature;
collectively, women might take
some of that responsibility.
Because there are scores
of nice guys out there,
playing the scene.

There are just as many
men who can’t see past
The tip of their own sh*t,
And plenty of girls
Who enable it.

So nice guys take the rap, all the time,
for another brother’s crimes!
I’ve been there before,
trying to play heartbreaker
when I was only playing myself,
so I guess that I can’t play
the part of Pious Theophilus.
I’ve come to find out, even
Augustine of Hippo had dirt
(I guess we all do).

Just feel me on this one:
It’s a learning process, and
if he doesn't treat you right;
give you everything
that you're worthy of,
then you’re the fool
for sticking around.

That being said, I’m not hitting you
with a completely unsympathetic frown.
Ultimately, the point will stand,
that where his soul lies down
is the beauty of a man;
and all that stuff on the exterior -
Well, let’s just say things
aren’t always as they appear.

It’s a cycle, Juliet - and Romeo has been frustrated.
Right now, I'm speaking with grown-up sincerity;
and I know, sometimes the little boy manages
to creep his way back into the picture, but
believe me when I say that I am trying,
it’s a complex mixture.

So when I whisper sweet something’s up
to your moonlit balcony from below;
tell you that when I’m with you,
I can feel myself grow;
or shower you with the
praises that you deserve,
and try to make you glow -
All I ask is that you hear me,
and believe me.

And believe me, I see -
Other cats are going to keep
jacking authentic styles and flows,
keep a strut in their walk,
and talk low over the phone.
Remember though; he can only
quote Shakespeare so long -
before you and he realize,
he’s just singing
another man’s song.

More importantly,
I want you to be happy.
Because I adore
the way you smile,
how you push
the long strands
of hair behind your ears
when you laugh.

And I know that
a lot of the time,
if you get drunk,
or decide to get high
(for the first time),
that you come to me,
reach out to me.

The sad part
of this story -
I won’t be.

I’m not your knight
in shining armor,
or your Cinderella plan.

You have to love yourself
before you can share
with someone else.

A dream deferred,
is a dream unheard.
I'll always prefer
to dream.

Your kisses,
mixed with salty tears.
A word – or two, or three;
spoken naturally.

We know
it’s a bit early,
but are thankful
just the same.

As I get out of the car,
I drop my Nano.
I think I’m realizing
how deeply you
have made contact.

It pains me to see you drive
away; so I turn my priorities
from the work at my desk,
to extract the warm tea
that brews in my breast.

Love is bold, just ask the axis.

When you smile,
let me know that I am
the object of your affection,
I learn to fully appreciate
the meaning of grace;
And grateful joy runs
through my veins.

Amidst the blemishes,
you manage to find me,
between these reds,
blues, and greens.