Line of Deliverance
In the shadowed shades of my blues.
I tenderly look for another who I can summon as one who lives life in honor,
Of all that is true.
Those who speak the spoken word in all its iridescent hues.
Colors drape my inner wardrobe.
Yet, I clamber for my grey, nuances of noir.
Catastrophizing all the whites for showing up my yellow gnashers.
Against a blustery pale backdrop of mountain blanketed by capped ice.
Brazen, I stand on the highest peak.
Cheeks misted by tears.
Contemplative in being joyful for the moments of inner peace.
Cast out this unwanted wardrobe.
No more to colours in clandestine!
The drab shabby (not so chic) curtains concealing my true identity.
My make up is not for every entity.
I’m asked to write the truest sentence I know.
Hemingway knew a way to interweave words worth more than bread made from the finest patisserie dough.
Scraping pennies to get by the hard knocks.
We do what we gotta do to get by.
Poverty causes ‘bros before hoes’ and ‘chicks before pricks’.
Keeping my pins steady as balls curve to nebulant sides — it incites fear into my inner stream of consciousness, dialogue conflicts –
Savaged by doubt and insecurity.
I’m on a trip with a Make believe demeanor.
One to conjure up more stamina and longevity-
To warn my inner Hecate to hesitate before she dare pro-curate.
Write to recover through seeping, bandaged wounds.
Riddling the mind with infectious curiosity,
To want knowledge is the power I crave.
It’s my security.
Droplets of lonely anguish torments my darkest spell.
I am the white temptress tempted to awaken the beast inside.
Though, I know it will be the catalyst to an eternity of mocking turmoil.
My final destination is not the country I occupy.
I’m an immigrant
I’m a traitor.
Colonized and imprisoned by outdated Imperialists.
The world is full of egoistical folk in full throws of the delirium tremors.
Murmurs of fragile Life keeps me close to the fire.
It scintillates what I know is inside — lying dormant.
Ready to drive out the cancers multiplying with faces frozen,
In that blissful look of the ignorant .
I raise my sword.
It bleeds ink.
It is my heart : my deliverance.
I can’t fathom another way to jolt my instincts to kick out, and rise to take another breath.
I’m the one who needs these murky waters to survive . Forget I too need oxygen and gills to stabilize my Eco system.
If my world was captured by a drone;
I would want it to show me evolved into a hybridized pro-humanity amphibian.
Swimming side by side
dolphins & whales ad infinitum.
Posted on Oct 2, 2018, in STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS COLLECTION, WRITE TO RECOVER and tagged Creativity, Emotions, Feminist, humanity, Humans, Life, Relationships, Stream of consciousness. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.