random dis  connect

Have you ever found yourself talking but not understanding what you were saying? Like it was all on autopilot? like your skin is not your skin? Your lips were not yours? This is my life. Found this poem in my papers. This was borne out of a time where I merely existed but did not truly live. I wasn’t confident about the path I was on. So instead of rebelling (which I should have done), I endured. My advice, if you’re going through a similar crisis of consciousness, is to take the rebel route. You’ll learn more about yourself than you ever thought possible.

Brand New Day

I took the yellow brick road, clicked my heels, and went back home. But I returned to a much changed world. I felt like a foreigner, needing a passport to cross state lines. I’m not even sure if I’m still in the same country. A Stranger in a Strange Land. There’s too much light and my eyelids hurt, burning with every blink. My shoulders are stiff, my head is heavy. My pen keeps writing even when I don’t know what to say. I feel stronger when I don’t speak, conserving words, saving water in a drought. I speak only when I need strength. Burrowing into my skin, shine under the sky like a sunflower. If/when I go home, who will have changed? Two years gone, the prodigal daughter, welcomed with open arms to a brand new day.

The Glass Bottle

Murky sound, traveling under water Mellow yellow light fills my eyes Clarity of expression through my fingertips Urban attack, swank bank between my thighs Stay woke, fam. Independent study of the lines on your face Fellowship of the Pen, Return of the Queen Capsule learning, getting to know you Adrenaline to expel about The disease that Binds me to this Life. Day job ’til I die, Money/power/respect Compartmentalize the details That separate me from this dream The scritch of this pen Echoes because of the excellent acoustics Images of three, short phrases precede your emojis Pithy blurbs of immaculate sex and fashion shows Wearing the lingerie you bought me In the heat of the moment Feather light against your skin I really have to refresh Sniffling in front of the cameras It’s not coke, no I only drink it from glass bottles Ten cents off the side of the road,…

lady of the lies we tell her selves

You’re too friendly; You’re not friendly enough. You shouldn’t wear that; Flaunt it if you’ve got it. You’ve got big hands, really tall, you play ball? Why did you do that? Why didn’t you say that? You deserved it; You let him do it; You didn’t stop him. If it was me, I wouldn’t; If I were you, it would be done. I love you; I hate you; There is never an in-between. You’re too skinny; You’ve gained weight. You’re too brown; You’re too light-skinned. You wear glasses; What about contacts? You look young; How old are you? Your body belong to U.S.; Your thoughts controlled by Big Brother; Don’t ever stop the pen, Because no one else will sing your song.

Loving is Leaving and Coming Back Around Again

I’ve never been in love. Not like how the poets scribble, the musicians sing, we storytellers write bestselling novels about. Infatuated, yes; blind, justice; obsessed, hungry. I thought I loved my birthplace. Rose coloured glasses and all that. I left like a thief in the night, Only it was day (that much I recall) – An inauspicious Fourth of July, Carrying passion that I thought was love in a bucket of water, With a big fucking hole in the bottom. In my youth, I saw all the signs. I ignored them this time around, Believing I was immune to it. Immunity seems like a horrible way to explain it And maybe there isn’t some sentimental way to define Something that doesn’t deserve to be sentimental at all. I am prepared to leave, two years older Certainly not wiser because nobody is, No amount of lying will comfort you As this…