Wednesday, May 16, 2012
The Bottom Line
Kill the idols I’ve made of
Vanity, sanity, and sanitized humanity.
Give me something real, something I can hold
In my chest and possess in the midst of insanity.
Even If spits and stutters are the best I can give
To telling truth, speaking power without resorting to a shout
I’ll risk foolishness, failure, my fragility and fear
Because this fire in my bones is burning so bright and clear.
Rigid lines, staggered time, rough rhymes and jilted rhythms
Are the marks of internal drama giving birth to deeper wisdom.
Though this cadre may destruct in the face of such opposition,
I’m breaking out, not bound to this pseudo group, a prison.