I am sunken lungs
despite the way my laughter races time
surprised at it’s own blithe essence
as it considers it’s melancholy wrapped in tar
from evenings and corners and benches of lonely smoke,
the bittersweet refugee of this body.
I am always rising,
filling rooms and hearts at width
only an apparition of validation
with the same rendition of full words
making friends feel whole
making lovers out of friends
taking their accolades under my tongue and
spitting them out instantaneously
as this reel of life chooses me
and proposes a tasteless audience.
I am sculpted feet, smooth, unsure, unseen
in black leather and bursts of blue flames
treading heavy, falling over my knees
bruising, bleeding, still singing
rebel songs whispered to me in dreams
by those that loved me all knowingly
passing their blood and metaphysics to me in
screams of sweet conception, strife and stories.
I am here
shackled to this lifetime by brutish force of colonization
an alienation of flesh and worry
always wondering how much more I can do to compensate
for the way people look at me
I am here
there are words I must reveal
that I am still trying to remember
there is sun that kisses my face
and well, there’s something beautiful about knowing
that it loved my ancestors like this too
So this is me.
I find solace in knowing that the stars endowed me with some sort of consciousness.
And this is me, still trying to fill this hole in my chest with ink.
I am here.
I have to remember how I got here.
I have to race time
or it will never know
how much it’s done for me.
And I want it to know.
I want it to know that I exist.