Contaminated Reflections
Anticipate refection, for I know not what happens when memory explodes, I know what happens when fantasy meets reality and connective energy implodes beneath this story told.
Fashionable desire calls out to the inner child in me, screams at the growing maturity I seem to vomit up profusely...Who am I? Is this sound trickling though the sonic wall of my souls personality.
The question, what am I? Vibrates off the layers of strength which is stretched across my ambition to be loving, caring, charismatic even daring.
Frantic from perspiring creative thinking, exhausted from using words that describe feelings I have not yet felt, painting vivid photos of circumstances I have not yet experienced so these poems are all that I have left.
I am merely an infraction of what life hands to me; I am total satisfaction of what I want to be, minus a few insecurities. I am strong black beauty, deranged from the triumphs of my challenged spirituality. I am me...who is me, well, I'm he who has no indiscretions, and sins unreleased, no sorrow of passion mirrored by the person I use to be.
No dealings with fear, for fear holds me and my lust collectively.
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