It’s been some time since my last keystroke, I hope I don’t choke on the word-vomit that my thoughts provoke. So yoke the throat of my utensil and you’ll see how my heart spills out the tip of my pencil. It’s suspenseful and will drive you hysterical when my ideas spit onto your theory’s material, leaving a stain so deranged that you’ll rearrange how you feel about my take on the game.
Don’t be a fool and pick up these jewels that I’m putting down,
’cause fate deals the deck and you decide whether to fold or play for the ducats.
So pull up and come through and see how me and mine do.
It’s obscene for some to see
how I bend over on my hands, knees
and crawl around like a fiend
to tear away all the negativity that’s been flourishing within this being.
It’s a sure sight to see how I shake the fright
of the lack of light burning in the scope of the window of my soul.
Or is it another gleem
thats trying to shine within me?
Because the beacon that’s flashing my weaknesses
fades and reinstates itself on the plains
like a lighthouse shining the way
to lost boats off the coast.
I boast to know what it means to be hurt,
but did i learn?
Are my victories part of the lesson i passed with ease?
Are the faults that constantly haunt the reason i don’t let myself fall?
I just wanna rise.
Is that such a crime?
Hey, your moms messaged me asking how everything’s going. Inquiring if I’m up for grabs or taken, if I got kids on the way or ones that are almost speaking. A lot can happen with time and distance once a relationship has been broken to pieces.
Talks with your moms brewed emotions, stronger than Cuban coffee with a dash of Columbian powdered lactose that’s cut with coke. Those three dots erupted a commotion of emotions within my flesh-n-muscle soul-powered locomotive and the gears of my heart grinded thinking of what message is attached to her keystroking. I choke on my own spit as I read what she says. “I miss you everyday and hope we can remain as close friends.” I begin typing away a brief, amicable n sincere rejoinder and before I could reply to her, my cellscreen switches to an incoming call from your mother. I hesitate but answer and quickly initiate to conversate. She did nothing wrong to me and to be honest I miss her loving sympathy. A genuine compassion, unconditional. But it’s making my heart feel trivial…
I hold back my tears and hear her every word, as she tangents off and began to spew of her life and yours. How she feels sorry for what occurred, she hoped my focal-point’s sores are recovered and have not given up on love anymore. I’m torn to bits and burst into an internal fit as I do not admit to her, that my heart is scorned from what her offspring did. I simply tell her, “Everything’s going. It is, what it is.” I keep my talk short and sweet. I’m cordial and respectful but a sensation of a vocal tension arose, after my closing statement “What can we do? You live and you learn.” Your mom said goodbye with tone of rejoice and said, “We’ve missed the sound of your voice…”
I replied in a likewise manner wishing her and what’s hers a bright future.
I now feel like I have closure. I still wish you all nothing but the best.
But it’s time to free my mind and take care of me and mine.
To finally let
my f*cking heart rest.
There’s a limit to how “close” friends from work should be.
They’re people who keep one sane during the dread of long working days.
Folks who share memes, joke in-between meetings
and complain about the superior bureaucracy.
I keep things professional, maintain my distance and act amicable.
I decline post work drinks and when the week ends, I’m extinct.
The only thing intimate I’ve shared
is my dislike for laid edges on blonde women’s hair.
Work comes first when your pocketbook thirsts.
So, I drop those in the way of getting my guap,
because I play for keeps and I’ll take what belongs to me.
Tony Montana said it best, “In this country, you gotta make the money first.
Then when you get the money, you get the power.
Then when you get the power, then you get the women.”