Despot.

Convinced he was the sculptor,
as he chipped at me with a chisel.
Petrified, every time he beckoned me,
like canines called by whistle.

Rusty hangers hid the skeletons,
and all the corpses in his closet.
How desperate for love, was I, 
to ignore the red flags and gossip.

First, I forewent my own happiness
in exchange for demonic demands,
my religion relied on empty promises,
that I ate directly from his hands.

Then, he moulded me like I was clay,
and cleansed me of my former self,
performed open-heart surgery 
while assuring me he was my health.

Soon, I was frail as decrepit trees,
my nerves wouldn't survive the winter,
I was infected by his insecurity,
should've removed him when 
he was just a splinter.

Cold Hearted Snake.

Vulnerable as a viper 

without its venom, 

I might seem weaker than ever 

but I'm more poisonous than pythons. 

Your assets no match 

for the asp I really am, 

my bark is only small 

because my bite belittles many men. 

I might appear to be a lamb 

when you see me in the streets,  

but better believe I am the boa, 

who constricts before he eats. 

The scent of your fear

awakens the anaconda within, 

before you even know it, 

my fangs pierce your skin. 

Dirty Thirty: Revisited

As each new day brings me dangerously close to dirty thirty, I can't help but reflect on how different my life was supposed to be. 

Expectation is truly the root of all heartache, with every failed expectation, our hearts weaken, and become more susceptible to breaking.  

I could have been a doctor, traveling the world whilst spreading smiles & cures. Maybe even a lawyer using logic to defend morality and human rights. A tenacious tongue run by resilient mind the greatest weapons in my fight. 

I cringe now as I think of the prestige of it all. 

Instead, I am simply a contender—my heart & head stronger than the muscles that line the bodies of any flamenco dancer or professional wrestler.  

My confidence perpetually propels me to new heights, but only on some nights. These evenings paint themselves inside my head, for when I sink down to the depths of the Marianas Trench and I need a reminder that sometimes I'm also blessed. 

Sometimes I falter & believe the critics in my head that convince me I could never do better; those are the days that corrode me from the inside out. My ambition turns to rust, slowly, as I die another death with every hour that works against me like the poorly oiled gears in life's curious machine.  

I run harder to catch myself, count to ten & try again, each breath requires incredible effort, as though I am the land that has no command over the mountains that weigh it down and make it tremble. 

I could have been a pilot, flying high & fancy free, with more power in my wings than all the royals resting in the Valley of Kings. As I navigated aeroplanes & jets over oceans, trees & seas, I beam with pride for playing my part in reuniting friends, lovers, & families. 

But here I am instead; a boy whose life's path was led astray by his own dismay. 

My journey different yet still others often find no harm in questioning my ambition or being expressing confusion with my drive, like wondering why I am not the same as them will somehow steal the stagnant  sadness from my eyes.  

My battle is mine alone, this cross is my own to bear, but I have to admit humanity failed the instant we ceased to care. Humility became the greatest casualty of this entire arrogant affair, ruled by rabid crowds who foam at the mouth should their impotent egos flare, turning us into tyrants waging wars with words & swords that hurt & gore the more they are compared.

The damage already done, all we can do is pray; now that we are conditioned to condemn our fellow humans with labels that destroy self-worth with decay.  Rotting now is the hope that once lived, that starry, wide eyed wonder from when we were just kids. Pervaded by the prevalence of the evil that persists, our faith in humanity can't be restored now that it's extinct. 

Time & again, I am forced to recall how much worse it could have been, humbled that somehow, I still have it all.  With every basic need of mine being met, I wonder who I am to even complain about the disarming restlessness that disparages my brain. 

My mind was once so pure & devoid of self-doubt that it would instinctively drown out the darkness of my own discouraging shouts. 

I believed in myself, and I was well-aware I was the master of my domain...until it hit me again...with the force of atomic bombs dropped from fighter planes, with all my parts scattered like bird's-eye views of derailed trains; God must've laughed as I made plans to never be that vulnerable again.

Now, I hungrily cling to even the faintest glimmer of hope; desperate for my story to be told as one of triumph & not one of revolt. 

Closer to thirty, yet still useless by society's standards, though I know the truth and realize I am more of a man than most. 

I've come eye to eye with death and laughed right in its wretched face, built myself up from ground zero and made an exultant return to grace. 

I am richer than the wealthiest men alive 

from the experiences that have blessed me 

with fine lines in the corners of my eyes, they bear witness to my happiness just like the notches in watches that measure passing time. 

With time comes healing & wisdom, despite the trials I've endured & the seemingly little I've accomplished, I know that I am far from loathsome—I can feel myself evolving. Dirty thirty inches closer daily but I know that I am growing; one look at me & the world will see that I am positively glowing.