Warrior a la mode

Catch me at battlefield you bunch of killjoys
You dream assassins
Cursed entities
I’ll be ready!
Ready for anything you’ve prepared
The slander, the lies, the oh so not hushed whispers
The handshakes and middlefingers
The hugs that lead to a knife in my back
And the sweet loved churned sour
I’ll be ready for it all!
I got a fist full of grenades
And four utility belts
Each containing uniquely sharp and slaughter ready gadgets
Some of them are shrapnel filled,
All wrapped in container, explosive like Chinese new years
But I love to save those till the end
When you least expect it, I’ll be there
In the shadow of a shadow watching your shadow
Well hidden, silent in stealth,
Bloodlust in check, just about to leak from every pore of my being
I swear, if you ever thought you were safe
I’ll make sure to denounce your reassurance
So catch me at a battlefield
You bunch of killjoys
You gargoyles of disappointment
You mauled souls bleeding fetid resentment
I welcome you into open arms
Come meet me!
Come meet death

Accident Prone

Convulsing
…..again
Struggling to let go....

There is no pretty to how my back spasms from the wreck
How it wishes to not feel anything like an accident
Memories slither up and down my spine
up and down
down and up
all ocean smashing the beach
all non stop roller coaster
Finally, it decides to scale up my back and settle in shoulders
Made a house in my neck; I feel it in the cricks
In the wrenches and pulls
Yesterday, I picked another piece of glass out my hair
I’m used to this, it’s just like flossing!
Getting meat out teeth! Getting glass out hair!
….getting windshield and windows out bed
These days, I punish my gut at erratic times
It knows what to expect, anticipates it even
I’ve thought it how to speak alcohol
How to bear it all,
How to soak my brain, and sultry swirl the pain away
Everything is crack
Everything is flash backs
Everything is January 31st

The night, and all it has

When the night is as cloudy as my, rough
Bloated and bulging heart,
And the skyline is a dirty black pool, the color of subconscious
you should ask of me,
In all likelihood you'll be told that I was last seen
On main street
They'll say I had a look that screamed determination,
They'll say I was a giant gargoyle
Only able to came alive in the night time,
they'll remember how I walked into this packed house, 4 cornered room full of beautiful souls,
Fluttering too fast for the eyes to see
shining too free to be caged by any sort of manmade wall,
these people are gorgeous fireflies tonight,
And I see them how I've always wanted to be seen.
Conscious and smart, prickly pizzazz partly off point
Like a badly healed joint or a crooked rolled joint but swagged all the way out.
Tonight's just like them,
Young, not yet reeking of alcohol, or sex or crimes,
And we? We’re at the word, and I? I’ve missed four poems driving here
And one more trying to park my car so,
Excuse me for my lateness,
I know that coming in an hour late isn’t right
And I do have a watch that ticks millisecond exact, but art,
Just like greatness can never be rushed,
And I'm a bit of both so I'm just in time,
Ready to take standing stance in front of a cheap Mic stand
ready to go in,
As if I'm better than anyone
As if I'm the only one,
who has the ability, to plant poems
Between the cracks and crevices of your heart and soul.
On nights like this not even my reflection is mirror enough to be my competition
And so it begins with a breath to wet the drum set I have for lungs
I approach the Mic,
The Mic is like my pops and he pops like the fourth of July
My Legs twitch like a spaz
Robotic in its movements
Look hard enough, when emotion rips breath from my lungs
you can see my gut and my guts spilling out my mouth
And my voice is made of five heavy metal nails scratching my sycamore voice box
The effect is of an anxious vinyl rewinding the growth of my manliness
How it breaks the days I’ve lived,
And goes back to before puberty ever scoured this body
I look nothing like my 22 years of age and sound free of regret and pain
And while all this is going on,
My body sweats slippery slivers down my shirt
so while I gesture and move my hands like I'm tied to a marionettes string,
With a voodoo priestess yanking in glee, know
That it's not because I'm animated its cause I'm trying to air dry myself.
Most nights,
just like this one, when the stars treat the moon like a campfire and dance all around it
you can find me, with a faded black book in hand
Filled with half finished,
Most times worthless pieces of scribbles,
Writing so jumbled, messy, and tumbled, even I can't make sense of it.
This jig saw puzzle of a book is the key,
To everything that is me,
Everything locked within
Everything my father told me I could be
And everything the world stole from me
So if you don’t mind how spit drips from my lips when I spit
Then I got a thousand truths to tell
How I drape social identity crisis over my body like a Kevlar vest
How I keep two hearts in my back pockets, in case the one in chest stops beating
How I miss my father and brothers, love my sisters and mother
How I wish, I wish that sometimes we never left home
On days like this, when the night’s as cloudy as my, rough
Bloated and bulging heart,
And the skyline’s a dirty black pool, the color of subconscious
Receive my poetry; take it out the door with you
And let it marinate, like a wildfire in California