*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.