Twisted Pinocchio...

i want to be a real boy...
again.

i... supposedly, miss you.

sometimes, we say "i don't know", "maybe", or even a flat "no" when what we really mean is, "yes! but first, le'mme clean my act up... so, please hold that thought & i'll be right with ya, ASAP." it's not exactly a FedEx sales pitch, but it's a work in progress if i do say so myself.

have you ever had that amazing connection (spark -even!) with a certain someone and you just knew right in your guts that you'll be happy with that person, but for reasons beyond your control, it just wasn't a good time and/or words just got (or did not get) in the way?

why can't we just say what we mean and mean what we say? when back in the caveman days, all it took were badly drawn stick people and what pretty much looked like a wild boar to say, "the hunt is on"... maybe it is better that we draw monochromatic pictures on walls when communicating... after all, a picture is worth a thousand words and that should pretty much say a lot.

but what good is a thousand or even two thousand of these words if you don't mean them? probably worth as much as a Mona Lisa postcard in a bookstore. that's her alright... the smile, hues, sfumato, and all. but the magic of that mysterious smile... the awe and wonder of being in the presence of the real Mona Lisa... is not there. much like the words, "i miss you" that are dropped out of routine or habitual response.

it is, however, pardonable... we're programmed that way. non-physical contact for varying lengths of time deemed relatively long enough by a person triggers an auto-response, i miss you.

as equals...

this world is filled with much joy to overpower one's depression...
it is, however, complemented with much more woe so as to place one on the fence.

surreal dyad...

is morning the herald of hope?
i asked...

mornings, the songs of those who look and find hope in them,
was your reply...

to which, i said...
then why do i dread the coming of light?

and you didn't respond...

i turned and walk away, disappointed.

you only dread because you refuse it...
was your resounding answer to my back.

and under my breath, i muttered...
no, it refuses me.

Dear Africa...

never believe all the negativity you see on television shows, movies, and other media. this world is not festered with hate... nor is it dominated by those whose lust for power have cost them their souls. it is not made up of 2-faced, big-haired, backstabbing, arrogant, pompous, self-serving, sons'a bitches... no no no. heed me well my dear, Africa... it is much worse.

no more...

now, there is no reason to get up...
none to go through your routine...
not a single thing to look forward to because it is all useless...

useless, from the start...
unlike your stupidity, which has afforded you your silent pain...
it is the irony of your predicament, when preservation has become your own sweet, slow torture...

and breaking free of it, your death sentence.

for you...

wrapped in my blanket, it crossed my mind...
wondered if you're wrapped in another's arms.
under this twilight, the same as yours...
my thoughts that are yours only, take flight.
you claimed me yours, one to hold and care for...
but you're not here and my heart doesn't live here anymore.

affirming my soul

i shall not wilt like any flower, a rose...
nor fade like a fallen autumn leaf.

i shall come and go like the ageless wind
and will be as i am while in an endless dream.

hate hate hate...

i hate it when it rains...
when the world is drenched in nature's tears, overwhelming everything else.

i hate the smell of smoke in the morning...
those stupidass neighbors who think burning leaves and trash actually help the environment... ugh, newsflash you shitheads?!?! NO it doesn't!

i hate loud noises that wake me from my sleep...
like the sound of construction, a marching band, or that stupidass neighbor's scooter's horn; which they always seem to have problems with, hence, the perpetual need to test it... it's not even that nice a scooter!!! it's scrap metal, you stupid fucks!

i hate waking up in the morning, crying...
it makes my eyes puffy, my nostrils snotty, and makes me see my life shitty.

above all else, i hate my heart...
for being my heart.

august is my autumn...

and one by one, the autumn leaves have now gone...
sweeped are the cares of olden days,
this playground is silent- an empty space.

the hills still sing at sunset, all my sad songs, and a sonnet...
between the hours of sleep and wakefulness,
i await only in stillness.