This web of intersections on my back tells a story as old as God.
Shamefully muttering the things that words are afraid to give breath.
Things that melodies are afraid to rope into songs.
But my feet, as wretched slaves of muscle memory, mindlessly move
along the forbidden path of choreographed damnation.
I am the affidavit of my father’s hate. The lost son. Born a sin.
Embodiment of every taboo mother nature tries to spit out in disgust.
Do not be surprised if you scour through my bowels to find me devoid of love
for earth herself is ashamed of the part she plays anchoring me here –
gravity cannot make an exception if it wanted to.
Even now, still, oxygenated blood begrudgingly hurries through my veins
and against nature’s better judgment, I still draw breath.
I guess, in the end, we are all slaves to destiny.
If I squint very hard, sometimes, I find communal comfort in this bitterness.
I find myself in the abrasive thirstiness of a wretched truth – that I
belong to the place of unbelonging – I, a twisted contradiction,
perversely crafted into the polar end of every virtue under the sun –
a punching bag for every man’s self-hate.
Poster boy for all things that should not be, but are.
I am a desolate dungeon of discarded things,
how death gives value to life or how gravity gives meaning to flight.
By design, made darkness, so the rest of you can shine.
If I could help it, I would not wonder what twisted psycho
makes a puppet with the ability to want more.
The dangling ambition, so tauntingly out of reach yet stealing fate’s resignation.
Whose idea was it to craft a silence with an urge to scream?
Pumped full of desire but not an ounce of freewill.
Perhaps, in the end, it is all a sick universal joke.
Only a few brave books bear tales of depravities such as me.
For no man wants to read about how dirt feels tapped beneath the soles of his sandals.
Nor the resigned sacrifices made by puppets such as Judas.
No man wants to read about the philosophical musings of misfit toys.
You do not make a bestseller by trying to magnify the voice of silence.
Photo by Caique Silva from Pexels
COMMENTS ( 3 ) -
Michael Imossan February 03, 2022 14:41
This is am amazing fluid but deliberate placement of words and conveyance of truth. beautiful work. Daddii
Tommie February 03, 2022 07:50
It's simply amazing how your expressions, flamboyant as they are on face value or a first read, make absolute meaning when considered a little more. I love this one. Well done, Daddii.
Divine February 03, 2022 03:23
Reading again. It's the magnificence of your expressions for me. They are grandiose and severe, yet absorbable and meaningful. The poem feels real -- I imagine the words reeling off of you too, because there's such fluidity between the lines and segments. Beautiful poetry, Daddii.