I like him when he breathes
Because in a world where breathlessness is synonymous to pleasure
He would realize that it's actually a world that is oxygen deprived and slowly dying
When He breathes, he's alive.
When He breathes, I know that he feels pain
And he isn't numb to the wreckage of yearning souls pretending to be Free
To be free is to breathe
To be free is to offer hope.
To realize that hurt and being alive
Is better than dying and delusion.
Sometimes nights
Are like dark ink
And my mind is a paper notebook.
My pen edges on a cliff
Hanging on by a thread of words
That struggle to save me.
But I enjoy the rush.
I swear
That long hair is a symbol of a long journey
But heavy is the crown that is worn
When all I want is to feel light
Perhaps it's better to
Shorten my locs
To cut every strand from the fertile scalp
That nourishes them
So that the weight of my journey
Does not hinder my footsteps
Intended to keep up the pace
Of a vivacious yet a hauntingly unknown path.
Scream louder
So that the hardness of their cruelty bursts
Into fine dust
Make them recede like waves afraid of dry shores
Hush them with your noise
Drown them in your discontent
Let the air molecules around you
Dance violently in tune with your rage
Let them know how unshakable
The spirit of your ancestors are
Make the lions in you roar
Rise up and be counted
Rise up and be heard.
It gives me another reason to
Rise every morning like the sun
Whenever I think about the
Pain that I can alleviate in somebody
Else's heart and soul
Mind and body.
Nobody can take away my will
To be a human being that chooses
Softness instead of closed fists across cheek bones.
I'd rather kiss them.
Seeing broken shards of people
Everywhere I go hurts me beyond
What words I can write down intellectually.
It gives me another reason to
Give hope
Instead of despair that drowns.
I'd rather fill up a cup that is empty
Than to pour it out
barely quenching
The thirst of a ground only wanting blood.
