Just crap this time around… Sorry to anyone reading this.

July 11, 2011

This is my culture. This is the great and all-swallowing regret that stabs and stabs and punctures little gaping wounds that crown my heart. There are better poets. There are better truths out there to hold onto. Better saviors. Better eternities.

This is stupid, I realize… There are boys I’ve known who wanted to be hip-hop artists and so they compose the same old ‘I’m the best’ lyrics. So here’s some from me. My style…

Stayed up late to watch the world die in my own eyes and all I see are strings of inefficacy. Battle wounds and old proverbs and when her father beat her she would whisper in the tune of all the songs that they had sung her in the womb. And she forgets that she is not the monster, she is only his daughter, apologizing for everything that life has taught her. Apologizing to me…

And when I see I see in colors made of patterns in her eyes and when I try to pass my strength to her it’s then I realize that she is living on a promise that someday she will forget all this. And on this tipping precipice she stays, serene above the wreckage, holding onto me but I can’t see the pain that pulls her to her knees and she is full of this regret disease and she squeezes my hand to beg me please don’t go but all I know is that it hurts.


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