Hate (part one?)

Hate weighs on the soul
My energy is drained to the point
Where I cannot muster a vowel
To retell the story of why your
Existence in my heart is detestable.

This victim’s song is familiar
And I hum it softly to myself at times
So soothing is the searing repugnance
That I soon find myself crouched in.
A wounded man’s paradise;
Lulled into a cold slumber
From the melody.

Motionless and satisfied.
Happy from the reality I’ve built:
That everyone is malevolent
Way deep on the inside.
I smile from the safety of knowing that
I won’t ever have to try again;
Underneath the weight of
Grave vulnerability.

Offense hitches itself to the hip of the heart
And transitions with me from one stage in life
To the next.
Disappointment thick on my skin;
Covers;
Radiating from me like an aura
That glows with sweet disdain;
The façade of sweet tolerance and longsuffering
Attempts at masking my heartache,
While the pungent odor
Of hatred slowly seeps it way through.

Truthfully,
I have grown wary of the mourner’s sackcloth
And the chains of the slave.
The musty stench of disappointment
Lingering,
Makes me long for fresh air.
I need emancipation from
This place
And the courage to flee
This foggy disposition.

Love's B-Side.

Growing up I
believed a great, incomplete
truth.
fantasized & sacrificed
every moment on long bus rides
and nighttime silences
wishing and longing for the day
when I would find
a great love that would
suddenly
make my existence easier.

blame it on my naivety
or the fabricated, woo-like
factor in the media.
no matter the source of fault,
I wanted it more than
my  next breath:
someone who I'd love so much
that I'd breathe my last for.

I was completely unaware
of the harsh, unattractive half to Love.
Its gritty & disheveled B-side;
where you're pushed to the
outer realms of your sanity.
And you endure pain unimaginable;
the kind that mirrors the martyr
[but for different reasons]

Fear uncovers past wounds
of abandonment and heartache
Yet,

...I still want Love.
More than I did as a child.
And having sat down and counted the costs,
I still choose to pursue;
fantisizing with the same bright-eyed
enthusiasm.
Only now, it's matched with an inner fight
to endure whatever comes.

Stick-Up. (Mini-Series. Part 4)

I came to you:
Level-headed and
Whole-heartedly
With
Flawless diamonds hidden behind my eyes,
and
a pure, expectant smile.

But,
you took what didn't belong to you.
And I want them all back,

you Thief.

Love Jones For a Poet

The women of the world

May swoon

At the sight of ripped chests,

Arms,

And a statuesque frame

Molded after a porcelain David.

Others interests are sparked

(Along with that sparkle in the eye)

At the sight of a man

Nice at ball-handling or

Possessing the stamina of a

Tri-athlete of sorts;

A superman donned to

dodge bullets and

Leap tall buildings.

But I.

Stagger and stumble over curbsides

Over He

That can take vowels, nouns, and stanzas

And compose them into pure fire.

Spit a flame into my ear

Instead of a pick-up line.

My eyes will not follow the direction

Of a 5K runner or a tall, unblemished figure…

Nothing turns my head like He who can

Run circles around me with

The prose that He scribes.

My heart palpitates for the master of the 16,

The king of the manuscript,

And the ambassador of words and thoughts.

Not the muscular, wife-beater-wearing novice

Who will sport the shades, grip the mic,

Ransack the words,

But will say absolutely nothing.

No, not him…

But He.

Who wears justice as a belt

And truth as a cloak.

I will stand and applaud for him,

nod along to his beat,

study his verses and

commit them to memory,

apply the Truth I feel

to my every footstep.

The Ol' Ball & Chain

You

Attribute me

Not to life’s greatest adventure

But to a prison sentence.

Or a stage in life that is a

Necessary evil for procreation

And guilt-free monogamy.

You

Associate me

With the nagging to fix kitchen cabinets

And annoying jousts over remote-hogging

…instead of a life-long friendship

That transcends its titles and obligations.

You

Fill bars and hardware stores

Till after hours,

Secretly envy single men,

And excitedly attend bachelor parties

To relive your glory days…

To recall when you were that free…

To recapture the smile that was lost

Somewhere between the rehearsal dinner

And the 50^th soiled diaper that needed to be changed…

To remember when

You weren’t weighed down by the ol’ ball and chain...

You

Cheapen me

And then blame me for

Having desires beyond the biological.

Past our released endorphins and sweaty limbs.

You

Connect me

Directly to the journey’s difficulty

Instead of seeing me

As an answer to prayer.

["It is not good that Man should be alone..."]

You

Flee.

So I

Will wait.