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.

Born Again.

Rob me.

Take all of my bravery and will.

Free me from self-preservation

And leave me bare of defenses and potency.

Weaken me.

Strip me down to what I really am:

Thoughtless.

Devoid of form and color,

Shape and purpose.

Remind me that I am completely

Incapable, incompetent,

and

Impossibly hopeless

Without You.

Tongues.

we do plenty of talking
and not enough listening.
our own native cries drowning out
the voices of those across the border
and on distant shores.
"love me!" is the chant;
booming loud and urgent.

If we'd just take turns to listen
we shall discover
that
we're all saying the exact.
same.
thing.

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.

Shine.

Every morning

I brainstorm

On new ways that I can

Be better.

I muse over dreams from the night before

To calculate their divinity.

I breathe deeper

To clean the air for my fellow man.

Stand up straighter,

On tip toes,

So that I can get a better view of the sunrise.

Smile with

Eyes closed

And

Laugh with

Head back,

So that You can see

That I feel Your gaze…

[…though I am sometimes too shy to look back.]

I think of how I can write

With more insight,

As to not waste the light that peeks through

Your partly open door.

Exercise the talents and gifts I have

As an avenue to decrypt a portion of Your delight.

I’ll devise future plans;

Make room for love to have its way in me,

Because all I

Really purpose to do

In life is

Make You smile.

Economics.

Beautiful people

Nonchalant in their existence.

Cigarettes properly placed between fingers,

With postures slanted upwards toward dignity;

Floating among themselves,

Gloating.

Basking in privilege,

Yet secretly despising one another

And the wealth that has them all

Entrapped.

Silver spoons gleam brightly from

The mouths of babes;

Blinding the common man,

Straddling the fiscal fence

In the middle,

From seeing the dirty, disgraceful taboo

Of flies in destitute eyes & vacant, desperate appetites.

Search the world and find

1,000 impoverished pair of hands for every rich man.

And the ratio is allowed

So that the odds towards maintaining wealth are more favorable.

Therefore,

The backs of the poor are adequate commodities

For cheap labor,

Who will continue to build up the

Collateral of nations.

Routed slaves and desperate immigrants

Are testaments

that

The contradictions of the world

Are horrid, indeed.

"Tommy,...You Ain't Got No Job Maynnnn!!" (Haiku)

worse than laziness:
disguising idleness or
work without progress.