To The Women Who Love Us

(V) I ain’t no saint

It’s just a bruise 

Got trouble with trustin’

And nothing to lose.

(V) Sometimes I’m afraid

People need a break

We’ve been through something

I don’t want to be fake.

 (I) I don’t mean 

to take 

it all out 

on you.

(V) Cracked a few ribs

And I can’t give a fuck

But know that deep down 

With you, can’t mess it up.

(V) Small vic trees ahead,

Rack em up 

Until there’s 

more than a few.

(C) Seriously though,

I can’t do this

Without you

Without you,

I can’t breathe

Without you,

Colors fade

And turn to black

Without you

Without you.

 

V

This is what

I have to do…

Is this what 

I have to do?

Cracks

 that’s my trick, too.  

Fingers gonna crack 

every winter,

 ain’t no fixin it,

 just gotta deal with it.  

I hydrate,

 Vaseline 

with gloves 

at night, 

but without fail,

 got these 

daily reminders 

on my fingertips 

that’ll fade 

as the days age.

I Fail

 Sometimes

I Fail.

I try and try

Yet To no avail.

Like a gull

Chasing a ship,

Flyin gainst 

The wind,

just to 

Sit on a sail

But

Sometimes

I fail.

Sometimes 

Most times

I Fail.

Like a fool

Comin in late

To the final 

Of life

Pencils unsharpened

Dead calculator

But genuine 

With every intent 

Hell-bent

To succeed

But sometimes 

I fail

Unbeknown

 Such a good word

I have a hungry soul.  I will feed you.  

(MAJOR PAUSE)

However,

I see my life as a handful of sand

Gravity mixed with time

In the palm of my hand

slowly slipping away

I ponder on the purpose of it all.

Existential crisis

Not quite yet

But well on my way

No one ever tells you yo about the tedium of monotony that is comfort.

I realize the personal recognition of my social anxiety originated from going to these house and Telly parties as a yooot in da hood, and being surround by all these sex people congregating  andgyrating in a hot ass basement of tiny kitchen that managed an island in a studio apartment, and knowing the underlying fact of my happiness is dancing to music, grinding with a bombastic chick with house music bumping, and watching anime in shared solitude all night with only one other like-minded soul.

I tell people I’m an onion, and they never believe me.

Goodbye

 I don’t like to be followed.

I avoid being under the influence.

Augmented reality looks like expensive enhanced hallucinations to me.

2024

We’re in the future, and it’s looking pretty weird to me.

There’s this strange disconnect with reality occurring that makes me somewhat dizzy.

I don’t do it for the gram.

I barely Facebook as it is.

I spend more time killing, blocking, prohibiting advertisements on FB, that I think I’ll call it quits.

You win, Lord Zuckerberg.  The endless scroll of doom did me in.  You stole all my friends and replaced each one with ten companies who want my money.

If you want to reach me, feel free to email me…but who will see this?

The algorithm encourages extroverts to post post post.  I don’t post enough to be visible.

Quandary…

Again?!

 Sometimes, 

I read the news,

 sparingly, 

more and more these days, 

and I wonder, 

if somewhere,

 in the infinite 

existence and expanse 

of global languages, 

if there is 

a word 

that describes 

the emotion of irony 

between laughter 

and tears,

 like when you go to KFC 

after a long day 

of muckery, 

and KFC 

is completely

and udderly 

out of chicken.

The Influencer

 Shout out Gorillaz

So tired so tired so tired

Staying up all day and all night

Smiling so hard like their jaw has been wired

As soon as they post, their popularity expires.

Desperate for likes

From strangers abroad

Gotta fake it so well 

So they don’t know they’re a fraud.

It’s exhausting to witness.

They see their ratings rise

 as the soul sinks into the abyss,

to feed the blind babies of flies.

Sell your soul, 

your persona, 

your body, 

and your booty hole;

When will it end?

Will it ever end?

Like the endless scrolling of doom

And restless tedium of Zoom

Trapped for hours inside of a room

Devoid of breath and zeal 

But Kaboom!

A glimmer of light

As the exit sign shines bright

We can continue to live 

As time falls rapidly 

Like flour through a sieve…

I feel so sorry for the influencer. 

 To perpetually live 

in the now and the present 

and have all of your life’s energy 

Properly and completely spent.

I long for the days 

When I was plagued by stale scones

But now I’m stuck with

Cracked screens and

Swarms of replicator drones.

oy vey

I choose broken teeth

Over this madness underneath

Any day of the week.

It’s wild to see 

the smiling faces 

Of beautiful strangers

living in digital misery,

I see their masks

And they all look so sad to me

But who am I 

Hiding behind this poetry?

Manufactured

And exaggerated

Companies of reality.

Countless 

Limitless 

Even almost infinite

As the hunt for the money within the 

Bottomless pockets of Advertisers

They grow

None the wiser to the fact that

They will only despise the average him and her.

What’s real?

What’s not?

It’s all so absurdly fraught 

with denial 

ethics on trial 

a reminder 

that one’s life 

is so delicate

 and fragile.

I don’t envy them.  

I can’t even fathom 

what depths cause

one to embark

 on their path

 of cult figure 

that leaves the psyche

 Beyond bewildered.

Shattered 

Shards of glass

Strewn on the floor

Cuz you sellin dat ass.

What’s it like, 

to spend all your days 

Awake and afraid,

By the product you made

bullied by a ring of light 

living life

 like a slave 

Surviving

Imbibing

Subscribing

A little bit of you

Always dying

Amazed by the design 

of a malignant hula hoop 

Of disillumination…

Or is it disillusionment…

of glory holy daze?

The influencer 

You have my sympathies

 a thousand times over.  

My hats off to you 

as we all watch you bend over.