there is nights past

where i remade myself in sinister drag

i painted my face from boredom and loneliness

and told myself bout how no one pretty much cares for nigger sighs and stories bout faggots crying and i convinced myself that it would be worth it to litter.

and i went out, like a mess

trampling flowers all the way through my garden, and dropping feathers

clanged through my gate

and sat at a bar, proclaiming:

“i am a Black man

who likes dick in his ass.

i want my damn respect.”

speaking in a slur as demeaning as it intentional.

dressed as a pig.

and i know what loneliness, bad memories, and an itch can do at closing

and how comfortable hims who hum low could seem

there are glimmers-

in those bags, as bright as my eyes

and are more dangerous.

they will blind more than you thought

or meant to.

to the point where there is no high

high enough to reach happy

no voice that can sing sweet.

just things whispering from behind doors

begging you to wear collars, and be blindfolded.

to the point where understanding love makes no sense

because this world makes no sense.

its just clouds.

its just choking.

and i want to breathe.

ive kind started to like it

so i am not going to let tonight be like one of those before.
im going to write a poem.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s