Plagiarising
Figure words
in icy love.
It melts, rides
on its own melting:
a Frosty figure.
The ice, watery
illusion, tho necessary,
flows away… while
lingering vapour, Memory
decides to stay.
These palpable n
ethereal realms
of poems ( n love)…
give you the illusion of
havin given so much
u melt in the substance,
flow with it n realize:
wat wz given,
said, n understood, has
transcended u.
U go back to the
start, cover the distance
to an august morn
after a rainy nite
outside the window pane:
only to find the poem
is done with the ride;
no preplanned end. Its
start foretold omega.
There’s ur epiphany.
The Strangled Cry
My ivory tower is half a room,
a bed, a table n chair, a rack,
a closet. Not much.
Yet I try creatin’ spaces
— not coz I want ‘em filled up
but bcoz I need them there—
even wen I know
vaccums don xist…
My silences r measured
4 reasons my own, no one else’s.
I like keepin’ ‘em dat way.
My lines r drawn
@ d bginnin’. In blood.
Not peed on.
My few possessions
I guard wid muted rage
n yet, I need not lessons
in giving. I have given much,
know wen n how 2 giv
wen it matters.
My heart ain’t as barbed
as it may appear; do not presume
I need 2 be taught 2 share
wat is not urs 4 d taking.
On occasion, I do bite off
more than I can chew…
there’s a flip side 2 every hi,
this is mine: sooner
than later, I spit it out.
It ain’t a pretty site, I know.
Sumtimes, I think myself
stronger than I am—
only 2 remember, I am not Atlas
nor want to be.
I do not understand
unwanted help. I’m learning
2 giv only wen asked.
I do not want 2 understand
wat does not want understandin’.
I do not get reachin’ out
wen one does not want
a heart strung 2 pryin’ knowledge.
Sumtimes, I do break d walls
I build—only 2 raise them
again—stronger than they were.
Don’t try breakin them 4 me.
Sumthin’ there is, that does want a wall:
‘at mending time they R bac’ u see,
elves mite break ‘em down, but
we build ‘em again—
even wen we don kno y
‘gud fences’ make gud neighbours.
I stand wid his old man on dat.
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