Forever Changed?

I changed me
to be we.
Now that we
cannot be,
what will be-
come of me?

New Target

I was so relieved to be out of their line of fire,

to be treated as an ally, if even for just a moment.

Then I noticed the new target.

Though reluctant, I prepared to shoot.

This is warfare. 

Too much hesitation 

would’ve put that bull’s eye 

back on me.

I took aim with them,

spinelessly following whoever the general was,

unleashing alongside them a barrage of piercing words

that fell on your ears like a hail of bullets.

I held back at first,

but in the heat of battle 

I unloaded with pinpoint accuracy,

obliterating what little armor you had left.

And before I could go for the kill shot

you looked at me.  You looked me dead in the eye

and I knew this friendly fire was killing both of us.

Amateur Stamp Collector - Poem #7

Two stamps.

More than many,

but far from enough.

It’s a start,

a beginning,

but nothing more.

I’m here,

which is fine

for now,

but I want to be there.

Where’s there?

Anywhere that’s elsewhere.

Just give me another stamp

and then another

and then another…

The Box & The Mirror - Poem #5

You speak to me,

sometimes about me.

Though I’ve never told them to you,

you tell me my stories

in ways I haven’t heard

or contemplated. 

You seem to understand me,

find me,

and at times

define me.

My audio mirror.

I listen intently

marveling at the many voices

that speak my innermost thoughts.

Secrets shared with me, myself, and I

retold melodically by others,

with varying tones, speeds, and words.

My uncontrollable voice box.

And as I repeat the stories from

my audio mirror and uncontrollable voice box,

I hear someone repeating my stories, too.

Maybe these stories are not mine alone.

Ready (Next Time) - Poem #3

So much wind.

So much wind.

My sensitive eyes catch a gust

and a tear trickles down my cheek.

I shake and shiver,

wishing for more material

to shield me from these chilly blasts.

I look to the left.

I look to the right.

They appear fearless,

focused,

confident,

ready.

Am I ready?

They put their heads down,

their feet in the blocks,

their hands on the line.

I simply stand still,

mute and motionless.

BANG!

They leave

then I start

and go

as fast

as I can –

as fast

as my legs

and this wind

will allow.

And they start coming back

or I start catching up

to them.

Not all,

but some –

most.

And it’s over.

I’m not first.

I’m not last,

but I am intrigued

and excited

and fatigued

and sore

and gasping for breath

and ready to do it again.  

Outstanding - Poem #1

Fashion trends,

hundred dollar denims,

name brands ignorant tongues struggle to pronounce.

Folks slow-mo strolling, sporting the sweetest sneakers.

On the tongue, silhouette of the greatest baller ballin’.

Though these shoes made for ballin’ are rarely actually balled in,

More serving simply as a symbol someone’s ballin’.

That wasn’t me.

Don’t get me wrong, I wanted it to be.

It just wasn’t in the cards. 

I was a diamond in the rough looking rough.

Couldn’t quite make the cut

to converse with kids in the cool club.

See, my mother is a queen.  My father is a king,

but here in America, laughed at like jokers.

Dealing with discrimination due to dialect differences,

receiving insults in spades across jobs to pay bills.

I didn’t have the heart to ask for more than they could give.

As a result I’m persecuted and ridiculed.

Made to feel miniscule, pitiful, miserable

by individuals who

could keep tabs on my non-existent swag,

but couldn’t figure to tab to start a paragraph.

But I’d be lying if I said those words didn’t bother me.

Those words.  Those words. Those words.

Sharp.  Spiteful.

Harsh.  Hurtful.

Vile. Vicious. Venomous. Vulgar.

Cold. Callous.

Direct. Damaging.

Powerful. Punishing. Painful. Piercing

through my emotional armor. 

Couldn’t tell pops or mama.

They’d want to know why the kids at school were trying to make me cry.

(Though that wasn’t their goal.  They were just making fun of me.

I wonder why they call it making fun when none of it was fun for me).

And if my parents knew -

If my parents knew,

they’d do any and everything they could do.

Find another job.

Get a credit card.

Work extra hours.

Take shorter showers.

Eat smaller meals.

Put off a few bills.

Turn down the heat.

Even wear cheaper shoes on their feet.

All to make sure I smiled.

So, I smiled a smile full of lies

hoping my reality wouldn’t tell its story on my face.

Put on a brave front at the home front

and never uttered a word.

For them to sacrifice more would’ve absurd,

but back at school, the suffering continues. 

I know my place

on the outside of inner circles,

on the wrong side of inside jokes,

at the bottom of the social ladder,

in front of the verbal firing quad.

And with so much time by myself,

devised a plan by myself

for myself

simply to be myself.

And maybe one day they’ll figure it out.

Fitting in for me wasn’t an option.

So all that’s left is for me to be out…

standing.

Star Bright - Poem #2

Have you ever

gazed at a star from afar in awe

and wondered

how it shined so brightly?

The sight we might see might be likely

the result of something more –

more than we’ve conceived.

Maybe it was loved by the moon

but left the moon to find it’s own room.

Maybe its light seemed dim –

sub-par among other stars –

or its glow was dulled on purpose

so other stars wouldn’t feel worthless,

finally leaving to find its own place in space.

Chased by comets, avoiding black holes,

fallen and risen to glisten and glow.

A vision so brilliant,

resilient,

fights through dark nights to

provide the light we so admire.

Fleeing from the sun’s fire,

hiding away all day

until setting sun signals

time to foray

and once again display

candy for our eyes

while shielding us from its bitter journey.