Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Taru Marcellus Oct 2013
Born…
   with flesh that contradicts nervous system
        that contradicts skeletal system
                                                          ­             I am body
torn by its very nature
                                                          ­             I am lost
with troubled soul
   swirling in the cesspool that is life
        only hope of firm ground
                                                          ­             I am teen
with limited past                                                             ­                                          yet promising future
the result of an overbearing mother
   and a negligent father
                                                          ­             I am young black man
who has acted as a dumping ground
for words of wisdom
   and honorable ethics
                                                          ­             I am tamed chameleon
                                                       ­                I am weary traveler
yet to begin his journey
   nothing more than a loner searching for a rock
                                                            ­           I am questioning dreamer
a blind eye
   trapped on the inside looking out
                                                             ­          I am double-edged book
bound at the hems
   by veins interwoven into a heart of passionless calm
                                                            ­           I am heart
that beats once a year
   and on occasion of a pulse through my ear
                                                             ­          I am sound wave
waiting for my group
   a team of gears
        interlocking and shifting
             interlocking and shifting
                                                        ­                                                                 ­                      in constant pattern
too scared to slip outside the mold
                                                            ­           I am puppeteer’s puppet
my strings stay taut even in moments of rebellion
                                                       ­                I am slave to those who lead
because I
   am
innate follower
                                                        ­               I am pawn to those who will me
and doormat to those who seek refuge
                                                          ­             I am the lethargic day
that drags into eternity
   the deplorable boredom that hinders life
                                                            ­           I am the sad sap
that rolls down a crying tree
                                                            ­           I am the lack
that fills the vacuum
   the fluff
        that merely attracts the eye while providing nothing
                                                         ­              I am intricate façade
for bland building
                                                        ­               I am sky-filled bottle
with unscrewed cap
   an underman
        with self-contained potential
                                                       ­                I am statistic
a variable trying to escape definition
                                                      ­                 I am athlete
natural as the earth
at heart
   a quitter trained to persevere

                                                      ­                 I am carbon footprint
being slowly blown away by the sands of time

All these things I am
   yet all at once I am not
I am not what you see
   nor what you know
        for I cannot be known
I am not philosopher
   but then again
        if we count what I am not
                                                             ­                                                                 ­         then I do not even exist

                                                          ­             I am not written word
                                                            ­     because paper is constricting
This is so old it predates my poetry book. It is also not the original; if it can be believed this version is much more optimistic. In addition, I reordered/reorganized the phrases. I would like to continuously alter this piece so it reflects the changes within me.
Jordan Kwarteng May 2019
The beat friendships
Run in 2u's
Ours, it started in 2u's
Then stretched in 3ee's
Those I speak of this
Will never understand
The feeling of the Underman
I guess we'l all fell it one day
I can't make a plan
Not even one
Well, we had our fun
But now its done
Good by ***

— The End —