don’t mean to complain

or assign blame for

bad genetics and blasted

ideologies that led me astray

but this

systematic dismay where I am

left in the fray of a

world on the edge of being made

I’m taking toll of the ways

that I am not what was meant

to be and not to be

its a shame that this plain clothed

smooth talking man in me

is not ever to be I’m not enough

just to speak plainly and

not believing

I’m a ship wreck in the darkness

a lighthouse in the day

a noon day in shadows

no reason to be but I am

no longer hiding the spark

that would let others believe

that I’m enough of a binks

to let go and lease my beliefs

that I’m a singular beast

a tricked out spasm a seizure

where I’m clutching on to false hope

that I’m not what I am

although what I am is not damned

and I am wrong in believing

that this light in me

kept under guard for so long

is but a conflict of interest

garnered by


and the way I was made to be

a cripple that ceases to be me

when I stop complaining



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