the
city lights are not contrite
obscuring
all the stars at night
I thought I was done with midnight
ramblings, yet here I am, outside at an indecent hour, just me, the cold and
all that the darkness will not let you see. I wrote the poems, the novels and
was found wanting. These were limited in their longevity as a form of artistic
expression. Then I found my voice on the dark streets of decay, creating
something that was uniquely me, but this only served to isolate me more so I decided
the provided would no longer be meant for anyone but me and let my writing
become esoteric.
Yes I am human and I don’t want to
feel “unlovable” but I am asking for acceptance from the normative when there
is no way I will ever be able to belong because I dwell on the Azrith Plains
far from the Peoples’ Palace where everyone feels safe and secure inside their “let
me hide” walls. So I need to grasp while I unclasp and no longer listen to the
gasps that emit like a collection of the greatest hits because everyone else
stays with what is traditionally popular.
So I will take this heart on my sleeve
pack it in my bag and leave and let the axe of your axioms cleave any
connection between you and me. I guess it would have been easier, if less
poetic, to just say goodbye, but what after-all is poetry if not the mote in
God’s eye.
***
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