Subtract from these 20 years,
Those that I swallowed without tasting-
Anesthetize the clocks,
Sprinkle Father Time with amnesia,
Whisper the year 2011,
I am 13 again-

C-Section this graveyard of 7 years,
And surgery the boy bleeding curiosity-
Doctors don’t take confessions,
And surgeons can’t stitch spirits,
Sometimes a mirror,
Cuts deeper than a scalpel.

Resurrect from these grave plots,
All of the shattered hopes & dreams,
Buried under 6 feet of muddy decisions,
No apocalyptic resurrection,
When they crashed,
They burned to ash,
The tombstones,
Say that my dreams were still toddlers.

My family says mass murder,
The evidence points to a serial killer-
All the autopsies spell suicide.

In this graveyard of 7 years,
Lie all the people that I could’ve been-
Should’ve been,
Would’ve been,
I just wanna be good again-

Decisions I made slowly shot gunned every version of me that wasn’t who I am today,
& then aimed at those who tried to revive the opportunities I had been given,
No wonder everyone was scared of the type of person I would become.

I was headed in the wrong direction,
Scared of my own reflection,
Denied all my imperfections-
Actin like my mother never taught me a lesson,
A walking stereotype of my own skin complexion.

Telescope into the year 2018,
Where I have enveloped this body with a message-
Rosetta Stone,
This skin is easy to read,
For ages 0 and up,
There’s a warning to heed,
Engraved in my skin.

This manuscript,
This homily,
This sermon,
Or disquisition,
Is written in hieroglyphics-
You see them as bruises, scars, and imperfections,
But my optic nerves read them like anecdotes-

Even Van Goh messed up on a few paintings,

So just because I damaged my sculpture,

Doesn’t mean that I should stop working on the piece of art that God created,

We are forever unfinished.

Somedays my glue comes apart and I can barely hold myself together,

And you question me because my voice is a little shaky,
But you forgot that earthquakes are natural-
You forgot that when thunder speaks,
People listen-
You forgot that when a song comes on,
People nod their heads to the bass like they’re in agreement with the conversation between the instruments.

So before you question the shake in my voice,
Stop and think about how it naturally has the power to silence rooms and make people listen,
They nod in agreement when the symphony of wisdom plays,


The Conductor-


Hiding my face from the crowd-

I have played the wrong song.

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