I am looking for a place to return to.
I have no strength.

I find myself exposed, one skewed shadow
pulling roots beneath the sun.

Overnight I became wary of everything.
I remark at my own existence. That I could walk away from it.
As all colours part from me.

I open my mouth. I am full of willows and moth wings.
I look for words. I find the old ones and dig up
empty rooms.

I have become so simple.
My anger slouches in the corner like a rook.  Shuffling, always shuffling.
But he will not speak to me.

This is a living thing.
The paradox is a minor landscape.

No time believes in me.

I will say it again.
I woke this morning and found myself missing.

I keep looking for someone
who sees the world how I do.
Swirling metaphors
and striking colors,
Sunsets and beauty
and tragedy....

But perhaps I need
a facts and figures
Logical kind of person,
To pull my head out of the clouds.

There was a time I fell
for a girl,
So beautiful she was in
her brokenness.
So far from innocence,
as she clinged to the idea
of love in the arms of another.
Oh she was angel, my
angel of sin, but to kiss her
a sin I wished.
And to her I was her
peace in the sheets,
when the darkness
creeped in.

My skin is black.
Probably blacker than
The hole in my soul.
My hair is natural,
And resistant.
Like young black men
Being arrested by white cops.
My favorite color is black,
Probably because no one hardly
ever likes it.
My skin is black,
And I can't change that.