"pigmentation" poems
I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.
for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?
the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.
no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.
so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.
hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.
instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son
I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
I don't consider various eye colors "beautiful" nor "enchanting".
In all honesty; I've never really understood the incorrigible obsession with iris pigmentation that is genetically inherited and beyond the control of the possessor of the same pair of eyes you deem "beautiful".
But in contradiction to the callous statement I've opened with;
I've found a pair of eyes that I can unhesitantly call beautiful.
It should be noted that I only fell in love with the eyes after I'd seen them roll back with pleasure
(a memory that still makes me shiver)
And from that night on; I started to notice every single beautiful thing the eyes did.
The way they lit up with frenzied excitement,
The way they burned with raging desire,
The way they filled up with salty achromatic tears.
I've loved the eyes for as long as I can remember.
But I don't consider myself lucky just because those same eyes look at me lustfully midweek; but because in a seemingly redundant life, those eyes became something to look forward to seeing; or feeling pierce through your skin on a warm Saturday night
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
From whips and chains
To whips and chains,
Earned by pigmentation.
Suffered through tribulation
Caused by the need for **********
Lead to the names of elders confusion
The game of deception
Lead to liberation.
A work for works sake,
Where all currency we make
Is born for the government to take.
A cycle of earnings and yearnings
Where earnings go to learnings,
And learnings go to younglings,
Younglings go to work,
And from work they live to buy things
And from these things come the taxings
Of all things to come.
With housing comes heating where water is needed.
These things to provide for the one to be marrying,
And a child she may be carrying which leads to more taxing,
And when this child grows and they don't need your waxing
So begins your pension and time for relaxing.
Living without fear of receiving the axing,
And your wrinkles now potent define all your moods
You may wish you had done what little other men could,
Stand tall where some other pioneer may have once stood,
But instead around the stump no room for a branch,
Locked in by the cycle
Left to pedal with no brakes.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 5:35 AM UTC
So I'm a "fly" white guy,
with "Jet" black tendencies,
Try to be a nice guy,
But somehow end up the enemy.
I'll treat you like a princess,
But I'm a fort,
You can't get into me.
It makes no sense to me.
How did this knight in shining armor,
Get slain by the dragon?
So once upon a time,
I was a hero,
Now I'm a has-been.
Last in the castle for I belong with the Pagans,
Slaying distressed damsels,
Giving hell to the angels
With strangers wrapped in mangers,
Destined for greatness.
Trapped within this labyrinth of my cranium.
But when it comes to blame,
My pigmentation begins to change,
But this time it's not my shame.
'Cause you play the same game
That the dames did before you.
You're no different.
You're not worth a fortune.
Fortunately, you revealed your horns for me.
It's torturing how for me it ended horribly,
and you moved on to the same dude you ******* before me.
Love's supposed to be patient,
Love's supposed to be kind,
Instead it's a battlefield
Filled with landmines.
You say it's false,
that nice guys finish last?
Well clarify why I'm starin',
At taillights from my past.
They say when you have everything,
You give nothing back.
So I guess that explains
Why your feelings for me lack.
You're like "You're a white guy,
That tends to be black.
Well how in the hell
Can I get used to that?"
That's ********
You're afraid of commitment.
That's why you had to end it,
Before it could begin with.
You're a cynical, sinister,
Hypocritical minister,
Angelic sinner sent to incriminate innocence.
Evil's equivalent,
Yet as sweet as carcinogens.
If heartbreak were a game,
Girl, you would be winnin' it.
If my soul were a food,
You would've finished it.
I had a confident conscience,
but girl you diminished it.
Listen kid,
I get you're immature and ****
But don't go and slander my name
When you used to worship it.
Love's supposed to be patient,
Love's supposed to be kind,
Instead it's a battlefield
Filled with landmines.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
an aerosol angel with college-ruled wings
and paint stained fingertips
stranded in a sea of pigmentation
lately, she's been feeling out of place
not all compasses point due north
a parrot in a sea of sharks
who's never learned to sail
they're selling tickets to the shit-show on the shore line
catch the half priced sunday matanee
save the date
a trapeze ******* with a choke hold on the universe's coat tails
tap dancing through star charts and love poems at the pace of lightning's strike
some failures just have to be public
if lessons are to be learned
the prettiest ballerinas aren't afraid to fall
she's learned the hard way to find beauty in skinned knees
strength in stubbed toes
and faith in a broken heart
no point in dressing up, honey
prince charming doesn't frequent freak shows
he's an arrogant flake, anyway
her best bet is a strong man
or a fire breather
when looking for a boy to bring home
one man to bare her burdens
and another to scortch the wreckage of what's left
careful what you wish for
butterflies the size of funnel cakes shake her rib cage to pieces
silver confetti on pitted pavement
he looked so handsome beneath the neon lights
horrified and ecstatic all at once
like a lost boy in neverland
scanning the crowd of strangers for any possible princess tiger lillie's
someone to ride alongside on the ferris wheel all night
untill the sheriff shines his flashlight down the path that points them home
alone
but handsome boys know little about matters other than themselves
so she's gotten good at feeling bad
it's time to find a man
someone who can build things instead of just break them
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
Justice is just is
never changing always broken
the powerful get rewarded the weak get mistreated
morality gets wounded and then healed by fake promises
we gave justice eyes
because it seems to only serve those with lighter pigmentation
hidden in webs of lies, truth is not to be mentioned
justice is just is because no one wants to rightfully serve it
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 11:26 AM UTC
Connected through corruption
Entangled
Snared in the web of The Unknown
Uncertainty's hands
Tightening on our throats
We become shadows
Pigmentation drained
The hope to overcome
Trickling down the gutter
Forever swimming
The raging seas of doubt
Anchored
By memories
We beg to forget
We're both drowning
Swelling tides
Of what could have been
Please, take my hand
We can make it to the other side
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
I love love, I love hate, I love love before it's love, I love love after it dies
I love sunny days, I love rainy days, I love overcast , and I love the snow
I love walking, I love breathing,
I love listening I love speaking
I love interactions with factions upon factions and I truly love being alone
I love the rich, I love the poor, I love Liberals and Conservatives
I love they got meanings of the terms twisted and preach so vehemently about the superiority of their ideology
I love those who speak logically, I love those who listen, I love words that were written to be spoken, and those that were just to be written
I love racists, I love blacks, I love whites, and every ethnicity with any pigmentation that falls between them or against them
I love all cultures equally, And I love cultures that hold themselves to a higher esteem than other cultures
I love Cops and I love Criminals, I love Order and alcoholics and crack addicts who just keep gettin back at it with bare minimals
I love Devote Christians, I love Krampus, I love Christmas,
I love Baphomets, I love Marvin Gaye, I love The Doors Greatest Hit list
I love Batman, I love the Joker,
I love marijuana, and both those who are and are not avid smokers
I love the freedoms I enjoy everyday and I love that men are systematically taught to hate me on a spiritual level with such passion that they would strap a bomb to their chest just to end my existence
I love the Persistence, Of time, Life, Movement, The Cosmos, and I love that it keeps on existing so fluently that we feel almost lucidly that our existence is significant =)
I love the inquisitive look in the eyes of babies asking questions without the means to ask questions that, in due time, will only be answered by questions and answers that evoke much larger questions. And I love both those questions and the appropriate answers.
I love those with and without an appreciation for the nonsensical
I love you
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
When I hear FEMINISM, RACISM, SEXISM, IMMIGRATION
or the TORTURE OF A NATION,
my mind cries
and my eyes go blank.
Children ****** waving to their teacher
Their teacher waving back
A grenade is launched
and chunks of her pained memory soar through the windows of the bus.
War just won't stop.
In the Internet,
White-washed Latinos diss their mother's birth
throw stones at their father's graves.
Praise Uncle Sam
Although Caucasians are abusing them because of their skin pigmentation
Oh great U.S.A.
Who incarcerated Madiba and murdered MLK.
Killed more humans than Adolf and now want to buy them.
With a small piece of useless land in New Mexico and Kentucky Fried Chicken.
You PATHETIC CHICKEN
who wants to own the world even though you haven't been here one stinkin millennium.
A decade of power and now you patrol the streets.
please
You can't even patrol your own streets
please
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC
A memory so old, turned to sepia
From the pigmentation of Time
Losing all defining boundaries
As the album pages become dog eared
Due to long years of reminiscing
The moments shared together
A happy snapshot, now fading away
Can’t recall anymore on introspection
The album full of memories
Black and white turns to sepia
And ravages of time discolors
Once colorful moments
Captured only in black and white
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
Society tells me my size 22 hips
Are disgusting
That the hole in my lip
Is atrocious
My pointed nails, my blue hair, my black clothes
Are products of the devil
I am given freedom of religion yet, I am condemned because my Goddess is not
your God
I am poked and prodded at because my sexuality goes beyond laying with a man
In my state, I cannot marry a women because society is so entrapped in their perfect religion
How is this a fair world if I cannot be me?
As a woman, I am expected to keep my opinion to myself, bear children, and serve a husband
Yet, I am independent and creative
I thrive to make my own path
To be successful in myself and those closest to me
To be unique and to question everything I will not conform to a society in which I cannot think for myself
I believe in what cannot be seen
Therefore, I am crazy
I work better alone; think better on my own
I keep my words in my brain because they aren't the same as everyone's
So, I am depressed
My body composition is curvaceous and *****
So I starve myself to get the body society has entitled as perfection
But, what of my body?
Do I live how I see fit?
Hiding from mirrors and cameras, covered up by the baggy clothes boys wear on a day to day basis
Or do I entomb myself in a decaying corpse to live a short life of perfection
No.
I will walk with my head held high and my skirt blowing in the wind
Because I will not conform to society's definition of perfection
I crave affection in the physical form
Therefore, I am a ****
But you don't know my back story
You do not know how my entire life I was deprived of the emotions I so desperately craved
I don't know how to feel when a feeling is all that is offered to me
So, I remain alone
Because I am not beauty in society's eye
Therefore, I am not your first choice
Even though everyone says 'do not judge a book by it's cover'
I am cast away before you get to know me
Before you know my talents, my hobbies, my aspirations in life, my goals, my struggles, the reasons behind my words
Because society has been taught to love with the eyes and not the heart
What about the pigmentation of my skin complexion?
Society automatically disregards me as a troubled teen
That I will just become another statistic of the African-American populace
But I say I won't
Because my ancestors fought and died for their freedom, therefore I should fight for my say in my life
I will not be fat-shamed
I will not be slut-shamed
I will not be black-shamed
Because I cannot and will not conform to a society in which I cannot be me
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
I am not a SouthAfrican but i am an African not due to the pigmentation of my skin or because i was born in Africa. Africa is born within me , its my first ever home that ive ever known and i am a proud child of the African ancestry.
Africa isnt perfect as all human have their own imperfections . ITS SERIOUSLY SCARY HOW I CAN ATTACK MY OWN BROTHER AND LIE TO MYSELF AN SAY UBUNTU IS WHAT I BELIEVE. As human we build our own boarders and hope that everything will be well . Africa is a country not a continent . Forced by the media to believe only in the bad that happens around us and not embracing all the good things that have.
If i cant be an African then i am not the child of the soil. I am sorry to all my African brothers and sisters that have been attacked lately in their own country because we speak a different language and we come from different tribes. Africa Unite !!! AFRICAN AND PROUD
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
On some mornings
mom would ask
if Kyle and I wanted waffles
these were no ordinary syrup catchers
marbled by deep purple
stuffed with blueberries
When I was born
I was born a blueberry
due to the blue pigmentation
resulting from lack of oxygen
because of my mother’s smaller stature
that day a screaming smurf was brought into the world
and I’ve been getting redder ever since
Above the sink in my dad’s home
is a small purple bowl
handmade with a ceramic stem that broke off years ago
on the inside bottom is an engraving
that simply reads
‘Blue Berries’
but no longer carries fruit
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
Why am I called "white"?
Why am I an absence of color
To be associated with purity
Flawless innocence
A clean slate
Why am I called "white"
When I have the blood of monsters in my veins
There is nothing immaculate about my heritage
Simply from a lack of pigmentation
My hair is braided with the ******* of masses
My eyes see the broken lives of the oppressed
My ears hear the echoes of homelands invaded
And my hands hold the books with the historic lies enclosed
Why am I called "white"
Compared, as if, to the paper
On which my people's crimes could be written
Repeating so frequently with so many new victims
But we are never called to justice
And the cycle remains unbroken
When we are addressed
We stand up from our thrones, screaming
"Unfair, cruel, why attack me?!
I don't understand, what privilege do you see?!"
We act like the victims, fed by the system
And we eat it up with our metaphoric silver spoons
Why am I called "white"
I've been stained from the years of hatred
Perpetuated by a people who claim guiltlessness
Just because they are a newer generation
What was once called subjugation
Is now appropriation
But both are used to deny culture and rights from nations
But I won't sit by and prolong this delusion that we are any better
Any more beautiful then any other one of God's creations
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 5:52 AM UTC
unregulated pigmentation causes race wars
on the streets of a melting ***
the strain of freedom ideologies are too great
for the masses to uphold
children taught hate and bigotry sit in pews
praying to the god of war
the same god that spawned jesus and a burning bush
daughters looked upon as procreation tools
seek to be both fertile and babrie-like
but child-bearing hips are too wide for Cosmo
and skinny ******* only think of themselves
this is the current world
needing babies, but afraid to wear stretch-marks
needing children, teaching toddlers to ****
through video game indoctrination
and mass media persuasion
I sit alone on martin’s mountain
wishing the world knew about skin color as manipulation
sexism and mind control
fluoride and unfiltered water
like hammers and axes to those who would dominate us all
tools of a trade
trading lives
on the new world stock exchange
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
It's all too much.
I don't know how to say it better
than saying it like that, because -
How do I wrap all the ends
of the universe
into a napkin
and pass it over to you
without spilling something?
How do I scoop the depths
of humanity's depravity
into an ice-cream
that won't melt
down the sides
or crack from the pressure?
How do I tell you
how terribly awful
it must be
to have to argue
with people
about whether
mutilating the genitals
of 5-8 year old children
is right or wrong?
How do I tell you
about the terror that seizes you
when you talk to someone you love
who honestly believes
that pigmentation,
geographical location,
religious affiliation,
****** orientation,
are reasons
to be killed,
beaten,
detained,
condemned?
How do I describe that
sickening feeling
that I feel
when I'm going about
my coffee-cup flavored,
pill-prescribed diet,
acting like the day is normal,
when I know:
people are being bombed,
sleeping on the streets,
set on fire,
beheaded,
******
dying,
for doing
or being
the same things
I am going to do and be today
right after I finish my latte?
How do I live with that
knowledge
that girls are kidnapped
for going to school;
that four-year-olds
are holding assault rifles
when they should be
holding dolls;
that five-year-olds
are being trained as soldiers
when they should be
playing with toy soldiers;
that children
are giving birth to children;
that every 9 seconds
in the United States,
a woman is beaten
or *****
that I have an iPhone
that can do a billion things
and there are
food riots in India,
that -
That I could keep writing
until my fingers were whittled
down to bone
and I wouldn't finish
that list?
How do I describe that,
all of that,
except by saying,
it's all too much?
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 3:58 PM UTC
Legislators of social stigmatization
hand out identity before child birth,
reluctantly judged by your pigmentation,
you're given a name
and a pew in a church,
assigned to a gender with implications,
while ATM balance determines your worth
Bugs will certainly inherit the Earth
Disguised as your neighborhood
privacy invaders,
cops kick in the door
at your mother's front porch,
enforcing law written by legislators
for a routine seizure and search
Police brutality couldn't mask the depravity
of their warrants nomenclature
Capitalist crusaders terrorize Americans,
but can't keep the bugs
from their Earth inheritance
Men will shroud their evil nature
Malicious intent hides below the glacier
Camouflaged vindictive behavior
is electing dictators across the equator
Truth serenaders lobby for
congressional persuaders
to pardon these murderous
capitalist crusaders,
fitting agendas with tailor made suits,
who infect Mother Earth deep in her roots
Antibiotics couldn't heal or stop this
infection these players gave her
Pray for fire and fury
to burn away worry
when bugs surely crawl from the dirt
to inherit what's left of our Mother Earth
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 6:30 AM UTC
Imagine a world without terror outer
and inner, sans famine of food and water,
where every soul is well-sated; a world
sans sickness and disease, not by the cord
of morbidity and death held; a place
where huts are mansions, every shack is
a castle, and each flat a grand manor;
where the roads are built with pure gold
and the bridges with resplendent diamond;
where the day does not change in colour,
except when full moon in its full array
once in a month has its own display.
I mean a planet steeping in love
unfeigned, bristling with true hospitality
of the soul; a world bereft of danger,
and of every mind-and-heart breaker;
a world with the similitude of the garden of
Eden, hung on the shoulders of harmony--
where man at another cove's lovely dove
will not leer, where there are
no split and divorce. The genre, stuff
of life where one's pigmentation is
not the cardinal, but the inner essence.
A sort of society where ****** Hussein
and Laden-like fellows and all their
coterie of killers do not have a lair
of habitation, i refer; where besetting sin
has no confederacy with the rotary heart
and mind of man; where the leagues
of villians are non-existence. An earth
where conglomeration of wicked cliques
is non-operational: where everyone be
holy--no child soilder, nor forced labour;
where women are not ravaged in cruelty
of acts, and is void of conflict and war.
Such a place "the world" is not called
but "heaven: governed by the Almighty Lord.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 3:20 AM UTC
Pencil, chalk, charcoal and erasers
Walking hand in hand on a canvas
Stretched and condensed observations
Obstructions as concentration pins
A walk and talk in a dark museum
Stored birds, killed preys, stuffed game
Tall giraffe, the lion, lionized Victorian art
Quirky strokes of eccentric dashes mashes
Staring in glasses to capture emotions
Art resident mumble whilst erupting muscles
The ***** strikes to meet my ****** gaze
Slandered, pasted and matted with prejudice
Mouth flowing with filth like a sewage drain
Don’t we all come from holes, sticks and bones?
Don’t we all come in holes, sticks and bones?
A lost sight of an insight, a skin stratified
Misted and tainted with toned stinky ****
A pigmentation structured in perceptions
A plea to ****** stereotypical resolution
A streamline of vagaries, unsettle the gallery
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
Weathered flesh tightens tenderly in ever-expanding fibers
like an anatomical snuffbox.
The perspiring philtrum of a flew
is carved quickly but more desperate than a slice of kerf.
Uncoiled youth cissing uneven pigmentation
has been slaughtered like fall duff.
Yet she rejoices, snood and all,
To the tap, tap, tap
Of little dingbats.
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 12:10 PM UTC
This skin I’m in….
Has taken time to understand, appreciate and heal
From the burden of deep pigmentation
See, growing up frustration and humiliation was my constant station
Called names like “blacky,” “midnight,” and “streetblack,”
I embraced the negativity and wore pain like a sack
I bore the brunt of racism taught within my own community
And there was no immunity for me
I could not escape this dark skin
From year to year
The torture became more severe
And my self-esteem almost ceased to exist
Because I saw myself the way others saw me
I began to speak the same negative words
Spewed by others to myself
This deep pigmentation lead to alienation
I truly hated my dark skin….
In high school, I decided to work on me
And not care so much about what others thought
I told myself that I was more than a conqueror
I spoke more positive words and
I thought the darkness of my skin, didn’t win
But I still got told that “I was cute to be dark,”
Could it be that I was just cute
Not focusing on dark or light?
That is when I begin to realize, this wasn’t my fight
It’s my job to build my own self-esteem
It’s right in the definition, it’s literally what it means
Self-Esteem is how you see yourself!
It’s then that I chose to embrace this dark skin
That absorbs the sun, shines like onyx,
Purifies like charcoal and stands regal like a raven
This skin I’m in has taught me how to soar to higher heights
Loving every step my chocolate blessed feet trod…
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 9:21 PM UTC
Every hair defined
Every pore pointed out
The pigmentation- uneven
dotted with freckles of time
Peeling nose
Two tired eyes
A chin as big as sin
and yet
Every hair defined
Every pore pointed out
This is a face that has seen time
roll by gently, like a friend
with her joys and surprises
and stored behind that visage
is a mind that meditates upon these things
unhindered by a mere reflection
that captures only what the eye can behold
and not the stores of imagination
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
I saw in you.
what I see in her.
The color of hope.
He finds himself hanging again,
By a spider’s thread
manipulated by a master,
A master puppeteer
She caught me, bit me
time and time again, and again until
She left an intoxicating feeling.
As he looked up, he could only marvel,
at the lustrous thread,
an assortment that ran through him.
He didn't care about pain.
He didn't care how he was used.
Huh. It was all narcotics to him.
As he looked up, he saw her daggers.
they were dripping with ecstasy,
as she bit into her lower lip
He just couldn't get enough.
Their soul’s resonance kept the thread strong,
through it, she could feel him.
and he could feel her; Everything.
I knew what she was after
he didn't mind. He has what he wants.
She filled her hourglass with,
the red pigmentation of my blood.
After a long sleep
he saw morning dew on the thread
and the line snapped.
an almost empty shell remained
He landed on the next spiders thread
She was happy
and so was he,
virtuoso at all times.
As they both shared the nectar of life.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 4:10 PM UTC
Shadowed in the deepest trench
Four good men stand and stare
At my white face now reflected,
As if I wasn’t there.
Through a barrier of ethnicity,
Down walls of wooden eyes,
To pass through halls of prejudice
That none of us disguise.
They see me through a spectre,
Depicted by a ruse,
Of elemental difference
Which neither party choose.
A product of upbringing
Incumbent in each race,
Between us lies discomfort
When we search each other’s face.
They are black and I am white
Our blood shares crimson red
We all love our wives and family
And we struggle till we’re dead.
Why we amplify this difference
Why we bear this manic cost….
Where a hue of pigmentation
Means all reasoned thought is lost?
There’s a sadness in the offing
There’s an air of quiet remorse,
For mankind to come to terms with this….
The beast must run its’ course.
Marshalg
In the deep northern trench
27 July 2015
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 2:35 AM UTC
(First draft)
An authentic smile defeated then deleted long ago, zero chance of winnin' stretchin' all the way back to my beginnin'
It was a genuine expression that slowly melted to an unrecognizable reflection
All pigmentation givin' way revealin' a secondary, ghostly stand in
Granted, it happened in my formative years before I was abandoned due to the mutation
But the impact has been felt through forty somethin' calendars and countin'
A true representation of life's failed mission, I'm guessin'
Not necessarily my opinion but one every other person is holdin', no question
Still wouldn't say it's been a waste but the needles strongly leanin' towards no reason for existin'
An overall lack of position, doesn't seem like I was designed to fit in, that is if my life has been any indication
I manage to make it to and through the proverbial one more day but where's the lesson?
This just feels like non-monetary extortion of a life-sized portion
Take far more than what's given, with or without permission
I'm still in competition with myself, the prize, livin'
The compromise, loosin' myself in a broken system or durin' the transition
The eradication of an inner companion, replacin' compassion with aggression, smooth sailin' with frustration, no direction, no validation
The transition to curmudgeon happened earlier than expected, drawin' parallels from the curious case of Benjamin Button
Not for nothin', the infestation of negative thoughts caused a mutation inside and out, completely loosin' what it means to be human
It's not a lose lose situation, and it sure ain't win win, and any other option, I'm guessin', got lost in translation
But I'm pretty sure somethin's gotta end in order for another somethin' to begin, at least that's what I'm hearin'
Still can't find a reason that justifies the conviction, is what I'm feelin' damnation? Is what I'm seein' my own creation?
It could just be that no matter what I'm not goin' to enjoy the conclusion, not allowed to settle on your preferred endin'
No fat lady singin', just a band playin' as I feel myself sinkin' into oblivion so pardon me for givin' up on salvation
It should go without sayin' but you're waistin' away waitin' for divine intervention, be careful what you use for inspiration
It may not be your intention, but there's no hate like the love of a christian, I'm just sayin'
Pay attention, who you're praying to every day may not be the one listenin'
©2023
Aug 25, 2023
Aug 25, 2023 at 3:45 AM UTC