I hold sand with clenched hands
knowing that it'll never leave these badlands
I'm trapped in a spin cycle
holding on till I inevitably crash land
but I could count on one hand
every story that has ended with something monumental
that hasn't been accidental.
what is purpose when you're so temperamental
that no one one wants to be nonjudgmental
not giving you the respect you need
calling you by name in front of your face
though not gifted the delight of respect
named by scars and by snarls
sneered at by peers and friends
strangers and familiar faces
don't call me by name
if you aren't on face value
telling me what you think
to my face when you see me
destination unknown
barreling towards a fiery end
we're driving through barren sand lands of strange phrases
said through clenched teeth and cruel faces
so maybe you can ignore me
ignore my systematic oppression
but please don't mistake my anger
my dust storms in dead lands
with my misery in flooding fields
and in dying crops.
fore they are two different beasts
two different atrocities I bear
two different cries I weep
YOU ARE READING
Coherence
PoetryThis is a poetry collection that is both ever updating and ever changing. This collection of poetry isn't exactly traditional or ever a solid complete piece of prose, I am ever adding and changing and morphing them into something I feel is better or...
