Clapback.

Faces may pass, you still pay them little mind when you’re on easy street,

walking down the avenues of a life that came so cheap,
no one contests your success, or questions it since you’re the one to beat,
just know that some roads lead to success while others to boulevards of broken dreams.

You treated me as unkindly as the homeless that you passed daily to your chagrin,
it was not just ignorance, but heartlessness inspired by their suffering,
your own stresses were the only ones that were worth your engagement,
no one else could reserve any spaces in your mind.

Every morning, you wake up and everything is perfect,
no debt, no worries, you are so much more than the layperson,
convinced you are untouchable and that you have the Midas touch,
living life like you are the centre of the universe is more than enough.

Unprepared for the rude awakening that waits for you in the shadows,
growing stronger every time it sees your ego in action,
the more you mistreat your fellow man, the more it wants to catch you off guard,
but it patiently waits for the best moment to tear you apart.

With little heart, but a home the size of Saturn,
you have no time for sob stories as you plan for your own future,
not easy to love but somehow your life is filled with suitors,
until they realize, like all the rest, that they were just in a stupor.

Clap your hands, applaud for the man that you’ve become,
twenty-six going on sixty, how’d you get so numb?
Your grave will be the only one that no one visits,
for you wasted your life treating everyone that loved you like shit.

Death of a Salesman.

Archaic scriptures like manuscript pages from ancient history,
claim my sanity possessing me in my entirety.
Have I blind faith that I follow without any question,
leaping before I looked into the madness that is like a loaded weapon? 

 
Concealed behind your web of lies I find only consternation,
cajoled as though a prize meant to console pageant queens that failed their nations. 
Prehistoric means conceived by patriarchal men,
capture me then set me free and entrap me once again.  

 
Go ahead, that is all that you're good at,
reap what you sow then sow what you get. 
Entranced, whirling like the dervishes seduced by Sufism, you are my religion,
perhaps I needed more time to prepare for the icy cold, your only provision.  

 
Like knives, the sharpness of your tongue gored me like a butcher with a vendetta,
each utterance like gunpowder as though your words were fired at me from a Beretta. 
Raise the roof, turn the house down like jezebel,
double double toil trouble me with your wicked spells.  

Even from beyond the grave, you still wreak havoc in my soul,
I lost my head when I found your guillotine romance that made me grow old.
You poisoned me with poetry as I read between the lines.
intoxicated me with your insolence that you turned into wine.

Close it off, you were close enough but it all falls apart, shut it down,
complacency became your own enemy and now you're six feet underground.
Let it fall apart, silence in our final moments, do not make a sound.
Emancipated, wiser now that I understand what it means to be lost and found.

Self-Image.

For all the times you are dressed your best,
but feel you look your worst.
When your flaws seem magnified,
and like life cannot get any worse.

Stop, and catch your breath,
then look again at your reflection.
Perhaps people will be inspired by your imperfections,
it could even be their greatest lesson.

Your body is the only one that you will ever get,
whether you are slim, muscular, or even heavyset,
If you find it difficult to love the skin that you are in,
turn your gaze inwards and you will find the beauty within.

Stand tall, and hold your head up high,
soon you will begin to see your allure in others' eyes.
Learn to hear the stories behind every scar,
and just remember that you are as unique as the stars.

Stalin.

Eyes glazed, yet still peeled for the off chance that I may still catch sight of you,
starving for your touch, the slightest glimpse
would even suffice and nourish me,
like the most hearty stew.

Desperate, I know, but I can't go a day without thinking of you,
fuel for my mind, my brain drinks you like wine,
I find its intoxication is something that I cannot undo.
I made a wish, a promise to the universe, to remain loyal as long as it came true.

You are the stars, the galaxies, the comets,
and even the planets with all their moons.
I only need look to the sky and see
the planes passing through the night to be transported back to you.

Sitting here questioning why life behaves the way it does,
with twists at every corner, turning me inside out
just like scary movies do; you filled me with such hope then left me barren,
now I'm drowning in the blues.

I watch you sing and harmonize from afar,
I am still your biggest fan,
no amount of hurt inside my heart
could stop the love I'm still feeling.

I know that I am pitiful for staying stuck to you,
somehow our love like pixie-dust worked like crazy glue.
I know I'll never hear you say you want to be mine ever again,
despite being cognizant of this, I cannot stop hoping.

My closest friends demand that I get over you,
yet I will not give up or let go until you do too.
Delusional for remaining convinced that you could ever crave me again,
perhaps my psychosis can be explained best by my resistance to change.

Fooled me once, fool me twice,
and then do it again because I have no shame.
Play me, tease me, detest me,
it all feels the same now anyway.

My prayers are just a mantra now that I
repeat them even when they remain unheard,
they escape from my lips into the atmosphere
then simply disappear.

Hail Mary, hallelujah,
bismillah, just give me sight,
guide me away from this relentless void,
return me to the light.

How much longer can I be more pathetic than the bird that refuses to fly,
I will keep my back turned to you until you are a stranger to my eyes.
Devoid of attention, the affection that I have for you will surely die;
congratulate yourself for losing the love of the only city to ever tolerate your war-crimes.