Author: poetryfest

I like breathing, but I like dying.

Molding my mind for the fight that rages inside, screaming at me “I wanna die”.

It’s hard to own this life.

It’s hard to live in a lie, when I know deep down inside it kills me every time.

But I bury it alive, wishing for the voice to fade away with time but time doesn’t heal it’s just another vague state of mind.

And I scream and I scream, and I toss and I turn, and all I want to be is as good as birth of the same person right beside me, the age and the humor.

But the only set aside is the color of the humor – the color of the skin the pain of my looks;

Am I too dark am I too light? Am I too skinny, not built right? What do I think truly inside and what do others compare me to be?

How can I live up to not being me to be accepted and respected?

And there the truth lies: I don’t like the comparison yet the comparison likes me.

And it haunts me.

And I cry and I cry and I ache in it’s pain, telling and pushing the tide to sound the same but the song is so lame that feels like a game that I wrote, drew, and published-

It’s quite annoying to tell. Telling the truth of my mind that I wish I was dead inside but death doesn’t bring me solace if my baby isn’t alive –

My baby Lilith.

How I long to hear her cry. Her laugh and her chuckle, and see the long glancing eyes, knowing her Raven black hair will be the thing I’ll love the most in this world, yet I’m still scared.

Too scared to care for another heir of a fortune I wish to repair from the backs of my people, who’s pure work created a country and yet an apology never looms in the air it’s all broken words.

Words that never stick.

It’s a hashtag when we die.

Another candle by a gates side, a shrine forgotten to time after the rain pours down and the sun begins to shine but light isn’t hope it’s just another drop of a dime of forgotteness.

Something insignificant.

But when you hear our children cry there’s no tear left in sight, just temporary anger you had building inside for an excuse to use our pain to burn homes to the ground –

The homes we built and the country we made, and when my people say “free our name” and do the same, we are terrorist.

Rioters.

We become the black stain on a movement that shares our skins name, yet only the essence that mimics the first fathers name is forgiven, no bullets are choosing.

The only time you think of our pain is when one of your kids die the same – as unarmed, doing nothing but living their name.

And it hurts. And now you’re in pain.

Now you feel our suffer.

When just the other day it wasn’t a problem, and now a single child of yours is slain, while our tribes and homes have been tamed to listen and not speak.

Cower and hide.

And do or die if words speaks from our mouth, then only will the cuffs come out.

But it’s all in vain. Because what is equality when my people don’t know the name?

As I live my truth in my own holy name, a shroud of darkness thicker than my own brain brings around shame, and hates me for the love I’ve ordained.

Into this world there is nothing but hate.

And I bare it with me too;

Hate for not being loved, hate for not being touched, hate for not being cared for, hate for the sake of hating others rather than hating myself because I wake everyday living the lie that I’m ok when the only thing I want to do is die.

Die in darkness.

And yet Lilith keeps me sane.

But my brain is a never ending train of selfish thoughts for the life I live:

Am I honest or do I lie?

Is it sickness or is it health?

Must I marry myself opposite, or be the opposite?

When I walk down the lonely street, but still has crowds looking down on me, how do I speak?

Shall bass enter my tone, or should I continue in the skin I’m in and the voice I hold, more certain of my heart?

These thoughts tear me apart. And I fear the day when I’ve lived a life in vain in a way that’s not in my name because my chin must be up. My pride must not be touched.

I must be tough.

And yet all they see, is a black weak Twink; afraid to say anything. But this is me saying something.

Proudly and honestly that this is my name, that this is my life –

And the secrets I held inside that shine inside, dwindle down by the life I experience now.

And I go it alone. Go because I can. Go because I must.

Go for the sake of swimming. Although I’m afraid to drown because swimming I know not –

yet I float;

I float with the water lining my drums to enhance the tunes of the dudes who told me I’m no use, and I’m just a sorry excuse.

And so I cry, because I’m human too – and not because I’m weak.

I’m a black man and I can’t cry and that’s how I’m seen on the outside, but inside I’m crying that I’m not of your gender, but I share in your race, please see me.

Please accept me.

More than you I’m a triple threat, while your skin alone is a single war,

and on a spectrum of terror they see us the same, so why do we fight for their name?

It’s ok to not understand.

It’s alright to have questions.

It’s not alright to bruise and break.

It’s to love not to hate, and everyday I’m still learning the same because even to this day it hurts to stand next to a white persons holy gates, afraid that I’ll be the next verse in a song-

another name that’s prolonged in an epic prologue that bathes in the haunting history written on the stone wall.

Stonewall:

She’s my story for another day.

What if ours is the artificial intelligence
Of an incubus whose pastime
Is developing new movements
Derived from organic synthesis?
We who learn from doing,
We who learn from outside influences,
We who learn from those who teach,
We who are candles whose flames
Light the room where the incubus
Can be found pondering questions
Of power, energy storage, efficiency.

What if Incubus were to engage
In other pursuits, alternate concepts
Where gravity and loss are,
For example, indistinguishable
From poverty, savagery, and one another?
Where civilized society never fully developed,
Never fully materialized, never was endowed
With anger and vengeance? What if Incubus
Awoke flailing in a burlap satchel.
Forgetful of non-existence,
Ignorant of feathers, wings and escape.

What if we are as artificial
As our bodies are to the touch
Is not a question, but an answer.

A rose grew up from the concrete;
burst through earth like a Phoenix

standing tall,
poised perfectly to flourish in sun or shade—
its beauty seared into psyches of creatures

that supposedly find love at first sight.
Petals soft as cotton emit fragrant aromas summoning visitors
that bear peace offerings to woo secrets away from inside the rosebud’s walls.
Great Pretenders fake the funk once the rose blooms,
deflowering its innocence by clipping just above that fifth leaf.
Roses eventually wilt if left unattended on a shelf,
but bounce back resilient to breed new life on the vine.
Thorns hidden in the bush prick unwelcomed guests
leaving marks that demand respect,
never to be forgotten,
as thieves never leave their presence unscathed.
Even beautiful flowers possess defense mechanisms
which is why I don’t cut roses from the garden anymore.
They too deserve a chance to flourish,
happily
ever

after.

©2018

Rosemarie Wilson aka One Single RoseTM

All Rights Reserved

http://www.Onesinglerose.com

The best time of the day is dusk for sure
Run for my means is but a task obscure
Which, has come to an end for now
And ’tis time to take an honest bow
Bid adieu this while
To my good old friend
Of the morning vow

I run for my need, and
I earn for my creed
This world that we feed, and
This gold that we greed
All this fight for a greater flight
Has to come to an end now
And I, my soul return somehow

Now I can rest with my setting sun
Now I compare myself with none
Only swing with a melody in joyous bliss
A clap so silent my breath could kiss
Her cheek in rose in milk in cream
Her voice like husk in calm serene
Now I may talk, and not just scream

Talk with her and her soul alone
Dive in an ocean so marooned
It’s been wailing and crying, all this while
I couldn’t care for I had been vile
I was lost, and messed and crossed in ways
She never could pretend to find this maze
Of wondrous lustre; a rotten lust for haze

I have come now oh my darling me
Forgive me if I’d been far too free
I have known now to fall my robe
For ’tis but a method only to grope
For what’s not mine and can never be
‘Tis but a toy for my fun, for my glee
Come still water, I see you, d’you see me?

And the birds are chirping to their joy
A joy or a paranoia, which ahoy?
The light of dusk goes so slow you see
They cannot help but so sweetly wee
To their mates in calling for the night to pass
In a silent warm luke summer wash

In my garden chair I sit and stare
With grapes and berries I play solitaire
And feel so sunk in the juice of life amiss
Hear harmony sings, listen, retain, keep, it flees
Both of us will stay a-put tonight
In hope to wake again in the morning light

‘Tis no time to forgo no fear, no sorrow
‘Tis time to sleep now, for the run tomorrow

When I think about you my heart feels so full
My body has this rush of pure euphoric bliss

I’ve never stopped chasing that high you introduced to me

The come down, the twinge in my heart when the high falters, sheer anguish explodes

My eyes well
I rest my hand on my heart
I lose my breath

Tears fall from my eyes
My heart skips a beat
The despair rises within me
I embrace the pain

Then I do it all over again…

I’d rather endure the highs for a moment and let the heartbreak consume me
Then forget how I felt with you

I hope in the shadows of your dark… your soul ignites and eventually you desire to nurture the flowers in the darkest parts of you

Ciao, bello

Being in a relationship is like playing Russian roulette
With just one fuck to give, your heart places a bet
As the cylinder spins in the revolver, your chances at love are one to six
Like one lucky bullet, your heartstrings begin to rip.

Is he the one? Is she the one? One can barely think
The muzzle rests firmly against your head, is love really on the brink?
With trembling fingers, you pull the trigger and to your surprise you hear “Click”
Your heart pounds as you dodged a bullet, one can only predict.

The snows of one summer
And the crows of another
And the red-splattered holly
And the dirt’s creepy-crawlies

Came together one winter to sway in the tragedy
The forest is dark for me

But I can see farther on nights in the forest
Than days at the fair
And I saw you there
Pretty minstrel
With tears in your eyes let the hymns roll
Sing paradoxes
Followed by your pair of foxes

Are the tears in your eyes for the music or the words?
Have you heard bitter melodies that I haven’t heard?
Pretty minstrel

And I’m filled up with tropes and clichés
Similes and metaphors
Idioms and paradoxes
Following your gaze
Singing with your pair of foxes

And whispers of widows
Wallow in the wind
Little girls shut their windows
To the wails that want in

And there are ghosts in the trees
With the ropes that won’t leave
And the white foxes feed
On the crows in the snow

So tell me why you came
Tell me, what’s your fame?
Do you have a name?
My pretty minstrel

And oh, tell me where to go
Can you hear the crows in the snow?
My pretty minstrel
Let me hear the hymns roll

Are your songs jolly?
Are they folly?
Can you wake the holly?
With music and laughter
Make me smile in the after
When the children are all tucked away in the rafters

Pretty minstrel
Take your pair of foxes
Paint the world with paradoxes

And sing to the ghosts and the widows and crows
And the snows in the roots of the trees
Where the ropes still won’t leave

Pretty minstrel
If little girls shut their windows
To the whispers of widows
May the voices of minstrels
Weeping songs to the willows
Seep in through the rafters
And fill them with laughter

With tropes and clichés
Similes and metaphors
Idioms and paradoxes
And when I miss your gaze
I’ll think about your pair of foxes
Pretty minstrel
Let the hymns roll
For the snow

He’ll smile at me,
when he sinks his knife deep into my chest.

His hospitality
is second to none.

“The food is great”
I scream to him,
Over the hookah smoke,
The noise, the din.

Careful
Not to cross my legs or show the bottom of my shoe.

Sipping
Dark tea that scolds, but still I drink. Who needs a tongue?
Do you?

I don’t fit in here.
Yet… somehow belong.
The tension is building.
Violence will come soon.
It won’t be long.

Smokier now, more men yelling.
Chairs upsetting.
Cards are on the table, an ancient game of betting.

I inhale deeply,
a strong tobacco.
I begin coughing,
he gives me a swift smack though.
Must act brave, it’s all a big cock show.

Recovered.

I watch my host, and that fat man in the corner.
He wears a Gallabeya.
It’s like a long dress, I don’t tell him that though.

Suddenly
The earth moved.
Or was it me?

My eyes turn to the hookah,
They could barely see.
Out here they call it sheesha.
What was in it… Hashish.

This beating heart,
making sense now.
Paranoia real.
The fat man in the corner,
in his gallabeya,
that looks like a dress,
looks at me.

The men playing cards,
with the upset chairs,
don’t want me here either.

Neither
Do I
Want
To be
Here,
Right now.
Panic.

I take inventory.
My hands do the work.
Patting, they search.

Legs still there.
Good.
Face still there.
Good.

Wait. Where are my lips?
Fingers fumble.
Am I falling out of this chair?
I am on the floor.

People around me, angry.
Did I say something?
Was I stammering this whole time?
I don’t have lips, how could I speak?

I ask my friend,
But his beard is a bird’s nest.
His nose a sharp beak.
It was weird.
I began to protest.
I tried to stand,
I was too weak.

I coughed again.

And I could swear,
that smoke came out and filled the air.
A dark rain cloud
that rained fruit flies.

A thousand of them there.

Upon me were many eyes,
Never had they seen, a man with no lips spewing fruit flies.

It must be a dream.
I began to scream.

The birdman jumped on me.
And then, my biggest fear:
The fat man, in his dress,
yelled in Arabic, “You should have never come here”

I was on the ground again.
The fat man,
his acid breath stink,
fat air polluted,
weight full upon me.

It must be the fruit flies. They HATE them here, I concluded.

That’s when he smiled…
And sank his knife deep into my chest.

Pull me down from the sky
I’m scared of heights
Yet live so high
In the cosmos greatness drips excessively from
The palms of my hands
I am a dragon – I see my plan
I feel I know except when face up against man
Can’t escape being the sacrificial lamb
It’s who I am
Two of swords cut off my wings
Destined for land no matter my dreams
Such sadness this brings
Tears pour like springs
Stars twinkle to help me understand
I am stronger & wiser & that I can embrace my inner strength others sought to erase
“fall free or free fall?”
I sing as my soul questions eternity & all the miscommunication from the Sun
This mysterious darkness is scary yet I know I’ve won
What that is though, isn’t clear so I continue to fear
“follow the sound of my voice”
I hear as I flow without choice
I want to return to my base wherever that may be
Too much light inside now I burst
Becoming particles of soothing grace
Never to be replaced
Freely falling in the sky I exhale reasons why

Days are passing by.
Albums, music and songs.
Dad comes everyday at 9 pm.
Dinner, breakfast and lunch.
Mother, she’s watching tv.
Internet, movies and blogs.
Brother has a girlfriend.
Food, drinks and ice-cream.
Friends, somewhere hidding from me.
Me, i’m looking the walls.
Lonellyness, sadness, i am a mess.
Days are passing by…