Five Sense Lie

What’s wrong?

A common question with good intention.

Yet when you utter these words,

I feel citrus orchards

tear through my flesh

as fresh fruits flourish,

nourished by my lack of control.

And I detest the taste of parole.


Parades of prisoners pass by,

reeling back a muffled cry,

collecting baskets of orange caskets

filled to the brim with delusional facets.

I can hear the eager beat of your heart,

slowing its pace as I begin to depart,

my fibers tense while I revisit the start.

And I loathe this lesson you call art.


The burden lives on like a forlorn love song.

Facts turn into feelings

when fleeting fires find formidable feedings,

my felicitous hopes are sent fleeing.

Being an outcast is better

if you can’t get past being harassed

while your pain is broadcast.

And I revert to silence, suffering steadfast.


Assigning blame as a way to shame,

you designated guilt that wilt what little virtue I had left.

The roots of truth clawed at theft, bereft of growth I made an oath.

Exceed the confines of mankind.

Though treacherously tantalizing taboos tread tactfully,

Misery provided undeniable clarity.

Life is not charity.

And I only see right in the plights of depravity.


Impassioned garrisons return to stand guard.

The damages done have been sealed in a scar.

So I laugh on behalf of the staff that choreograph

instinctive responses to society’s polygraph.

In the midst of guffaws, applause can be heard

from condescending conscience claiming “coward”.

Ephemeral doubt but I can smell brewing wiles

And I remember why I have to fake smiles.


So when you ask what’s wrong,

I contemplate between inhibition and aggression.

Both exhibiting traces of depression

But does it really matter when sincerity is clandestine?


This poem is about: 
My family
My community
Guide that inspired this poem: 


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