I smoked my last dark green American Spirit that I bought in Vegas before laying my head to sleep this morning. This mania has me caged into a Hell of my own creation, with a feeling of obligation toward writing a poem before drifting away to my dreamscape—none of which, are even worth mentioning. Even with the meager 4 or 5 hours of sleep you would suppose is killing me, I feel more alive than anything; clinging to my dreams, making my ideas become reality.
It is ever so strange the way my memory tumbles each passing day. It is an energy-inefficient washer & dryer, reminding me of all the passing encounters day-to-day that need not go anywhere. They never get cleaner nor ever entirely dry, dripping with mildewy water that penetrates & offends the olfactory glands. Another catcall, being asked for my number, eyes prying for a glance… I might make strong eye contact, but only to remind others, that I see what’s inside and I am not interested in what they have to offer.
With each passing day, it is an objectivity that I am only closer to my grave. I wish to make the most of the daylight after these years of allowing others to control the fabric of my reality for no particular reason other than a pitiful sense of comfort for the familiar & known. Moving all over the place, making anywhere a home… fresh landscapes to mold my goals, taken for granted as my soul creeps out of my bones to forge a connection with someone that holds me down at home.
—By this time, I know it yields me more than pathetic. I spent years manifesting the evolution of skills that have served me well, even if I lack some type of formal academic degree. We exist in an ever-changing America that leaves a bitter taste in the mouths of those who allowed their hands to be forced into playing the foul game built on systems designed to repress people’s humanity. We are living through a period that is enduring the immensity of pain caused by an antiquated government; what is the point in arguing when there are children starving, dying, and turning to crime, on the soil of our allegedly great nation?
No, we do not need more policing, more security… We do not need to grow our prisons any longer. They are busting at the seams, while we ignore the obvious! What causes this crime? Sense of community lost, drugs rampant while doctors fill their pockets and slip away to their own supply alongside you. Greed, money, power—a diseased minority feeding off the American underbelly that is still recovering from genocide. It will never recover if we do not confront the problem, and a big part of it… is that the wealthy are succumbing to instant gratification. Our desperation feeds them. If the majority were to thrive, they would have nothing.
I just think it’s funny. I’m not angry. I am food to be played with & I do not want that anymore. I will go ahead and show myself to the door—please, I do not wish to be escorted. I know how to leave on my own.