Rarely, I write poems. Very rarely.
But I’d like to share this particular poem; it’s pretty personal.
Feedback is very appreciated.
I brush my fingertips on my stubby under arms
The comfort in the motion brings me solace
I wish to bury myself under the sea of Yemaya
But I can’t swim
And oblivion will win
In my childish fueled thoughts
I vow never to conform to those who can’t dream
Vow to become one with the rays of my sun
My vocabulary is about the size of my forearm
My thoughts are about the size of my life
And my heart is about the size of 7 million galaxies and counting
It is mis-fortunate to believe in misfortune
My sexy derives from my lack of self-consciousness
Good thing I lost my mask
Just looking at me should be a task
You ask about my past?
I couldn’t care less about that, like the shit that slips out my ass
My confession, as I tug on my stubby armpit hair