THIEF

*Content Advisory* (This one be raw) (Seriously mom/dad/preacher, don’t read this)

Someone stole my inspiration.

Something, something, Like a thief in the night
I’d like to tell you what they looked like
And what they wore,

But It’s too quiet and it’s too cold
To wear your heart out on your sleeve

---

Someone took my spark for life
Lit a fire underneath me

From the blackend log
I watched myself
Didn’t recognize the witch til night

---

The thin man stole my money
And the fat man stole my food
But wise man stole my voice
And took them back in the end

---

I’ve been drawn and quartered
Even before I’ve won dignity in death
But what a nigger supposed to do?

---

Hey you, you fucker
You took my joy
Raped her pretty corpse while it was still warm
And then fed it to those fools

---

 One thing they didn’t take took from me
 But a bit of wisdom, learnt from thieves:

Your dance is stolen
By they who love dancing

Your art is stolen
By they who love the arts

Your heart will be broken
By they who say they love the brokenhearted

So be careful who you love
Cuz they just might “love” you too

---

From the Author

There isn’t much to add to this one. As you might have noticed, I haven’t been too eager to post much work these days. Yeah, I’ve had my joy stolen in recent- and not just once. It’s crazy how fast these things like joy can be taken. It’s crazy the lengths that those who steal joy will go to do so. They can steal from what to you looks like an empty well. I’d like to mourn and move on- find new joy. But poets are notoriously bad at such things.

But my wife told me something recently. Well… she didn’t tell* me, exactly. She just… was.

What she was is this: Sometimes it’s okay to just take a moment and wail at the sky as it storms and booms all around you. Wail and cry ugly; like the scared child you find yourself to be.

I’ll close this out with a request, reader:

Be a love that does not steal.

Then come find me so we can be friends.