He is closed in by
a projection of memories that haunt,
a collage that is painted with strokes of violence,
a portrait of himself taken by the hands of the weak,
and a looking glass that shows the changes in his eyes.
are slowly pushing in
with the hands of his victims
that want to torture his mind.
He grips his hair and his changing eyes start
To bleed the blood
that he has taken from innocent people.
His body can not take the evil
coursing through his veins
like too much liquor from a drunken night.
His blood turns
into acid and he starts shaking in freight.
He sees the victims floating
over his head like clouds without day light.
They scratch his skin and they rape his insides.
They take his heart,
thaw it from it’s coldness
and they burned it to ashes
like he burned some of their bodies “for fun”.
They wanted to show him that what he has done
He pleaded and said that, “She was showing her skin and her body was calling my came.”
He pleaded and said that, “She wanted me but she was playing little head games.”
He pleaded and said that, “He was a little faggot and I needed to show him how to be a man.”
He pleaded and said that, “She was talking to me like I was a little boy and I needed to show her that I am her dad.”
“But once they started crying
and I looked into their eyes
I did what I had to do to stop their pain
but I clicked out and wanted to have fun
so I set their bodies to flames.”
were the death of him
when in reality he choked
on his own guilt in his sleep.
He was only 22 doing the things that he saw on TV.
“Us colored folks is too envious of one ‘nother. Dat’s how come us don’t git no further than us do. Us talks about de white man keepin’ us down! Shucks! He don’t have tuh. Us keeps our own selves down.”
-Zara Neale Hurston
From the book, “Their Eyes Were Watching God”
I feel as if there is some unity after the Treyvon murder trial, but why does it take murder to unify us? We are closer to each other, no matter what race, than we think. Some of us do not know this and i feel like that is a problem. We do not know many things because some of us aren’t being taught in our homes and at our schools. We, as people, have to teach each other and with that comes unity and trust. Teach other well and the “right” thing. Well, i think. This is not the only problem that we have and can fix.
She opens her eyes
The wings, resting on top of her eyelids
Flutter as she tries to dilate the truth.
She sees bright clouds
but the heavy emotions that are intravenous in her veins
restrain her from floating;
they become distant and abstract
like her life is withholding, her
body is weak
because society’s words act as vampires
draining her from her being.
This is her disease
She hear trumpets.
A sweet, symphonic orchestra that sound distant
with chords of voices that scream her name.
Her eager ears play catch
chasing after the harmony of death and an unknown pensive light.
The more she seeks the further the voices become
She tries to catch them with her fingers
but the voices vibrate through them
like sheets of air.
She is now ascending from my fingertips
like a choir singing away a prayer
to an armless God.
The words that were eating her alive
are no longer there.
She is stronger now.
The wings on her eyelids are now
the wings on her back
Fluttering like my tongue when i tell her goodbye.
I close my eyes
And i feel her reviving inside of me.
Her spirit is drowning peacefully
in my blood.
She is painting my skin
a vibrant glow of true happiness.
Even though her body
is sinking in the bed
Her soul is lingering in me instead.
I wish i can crawl into my skin
from playing hide and go seek
with the world.
Since i am forgotten,
i have won.
are the ribbons that are placed
around my neck.
My blood cells
are the metals, dangling
from them like a light on a string
swinging front and back;
in a room
where my bones lay like ashes
from my mother’s cigarette pack.
I am standing
In first place on top of my lungs,
suffocating slowly, waving
to a crowd of headless sheep.
Thinking that i have won
because i am used to the world seeking me.