Funhouse.

Whirling in circles, 
thoughts race through my mind 
like I'm stuck in the spin cycle.
I thought I knew better,
believed I had learned from this.

Yet here I am again turning, 
and twisting my words, 
might as well take a book
and hollow out its pages–
rendering them useless.

Why do I do this.
Repeatedly committing to
this insanity that robs me of peace.
Mea culpa, why does it have to be.
It steals my slumber and my dreams.

Everything is charcoal filtered;
it stings like lemon juice in fresh splinters.
Scars on my face, bruises on my knees.
Papercuts on my fingertips,
that you drown in overproof whiskeys. 

I hear a fizzing before 
everything fades to black. 
I regain consciousness 
swimming in the blues.
Is this the brand new me?

Or a recycled, carbon copy? 
An upgraded version or just 
a software update for free.
A never before seen silhouette 
or the same old ghost I used to be.

I just can't keep up, 
with racing against the clock
like it means anything anyway.
Progress will not be forced,
it cannot be reproduced.

All the plastic in the ocean,
and I'm still more artificial.
Will this old, rust coloured 
bicycle chain wear away 
so it finally can be replaced?

Because I swear I keep changing gears 
and still end up getting nowhere.
These wings on my back are just for show.
The horns inside my head continue to grow.
I chased the monsters out from under my bed.

I'm the one who cleared all the cobwebs.
Buried the skeletons in my closet.
But my demons remain, regardless.
They refuse to fade away.
These ghouls delight in my downfalls.

Applauding every single time I fail.
Snickering sheepishly, bearing the sharpest teeth 
from their seats in the audience, 
they take pleasure in watching me 
tumble away from the best of me.

I land face-first in what's left of me.
Beads of sweat dance on my forehead,
I stop to catch all my lost breaths.
The room becomes a merry go round,
that's been hijacked by a bloodthirsty clown. 

Vertigo takes control of me,
I collapse from anxiety.
Stuck in this funhouse maze,
my own distorted reflection 
stares back at me in judgement.

White gloves reach through the walls
pulling me in every direction.
Suddenly put on trial for these patterns
then insulted for my imperfections. 
I've yet to learn my lesson.

I gave my future the kiss of death.
through my own stagnation.
Through bated breath, 
I accepted eternal damnation.
I still yearn to learn my lessons.

Slain.

Let freedom ring, it reigns supreme.
Liberty's bell solely tolls for thee.
Red, white, and blue but only for you.
For me, red is the blood of my brothers and sisters you've murdered.
White, the ticket of privilege that buys you luxuries my melanin can't afford.
And blue? Blue is the police force that engages in brutality.
Its sole criteria for ending a life is colour.
I pray for the day there is no news of injustice.
No headlines about rapists who are freed whilst teachers are wrongfully killed.
Mama, when can we stop digging graves?
Help me understand when we stop being slaves.
Will we ever be saved?

There seems to be no end in sight to this crusade.

Is it reckless, are the riots in vain?

All that ever changes are the names of the innocents slain.

Spellbound.

You change states 

like a magician.

From fire to water, 

then back again. 

I feel you in the air, 

you ground me,

like the Earth. 

And then you vanish. 

Poof!

In a cloud of smoke 

you disappear 

and leave me reeling. 

That is when 

I started 

searching 

for you. 

Dancing in the moon's shadow, 

I retrace my steps. 

The light from a single black candle 

casts a glow on my intrigued face. 

My breath steadies, 

my mind's eye 

replays pleasant memories of 

us together. 

I would look possessed 

to an outsider,

but you. 

You are inside me. 

Only you see my concentration. 

Devoted like the congregation

of some old, unfamiliar church. 

You become my religion; 

I worship at your altar. 

Prostrate at your feet. 

Suddenly, the smell 

of sage fills the room.

Rejoice. 

I am released.

I float up to the ceiling, 

then higher.

Looking down on stars, 

holy water bursts forth 

from my stony heart 

and I feel my way back to you. 

I am light, 

you are the dark. 

Flesh of my flesh, 

blood of my blood. 

I taste you on my tongue, 

and know it won't be much longer now 

until we return to childlike innocence

and enlightenment. 

Daddy's Double Life.

At half past five each Friday, 
Samuel keyed-in his security
alarm's four-digit code, 
closing his office for the weekend.  

He tightly clutched his 
chestnut leather briefcase, 
before hurrying to catch 
the first train home.

Conceding to the defeat of his 
heavy-framed tortoise-shell 
Armani glasses while they 
cut into the bridge of his nose;

Samuel unlocked his apartment door, 
greeted Madge, his cat, 
and then kicked off 
his alligator shoes.

It was no secret at work that he was gay, 
but their jaws would drop if they ever found out 
he spent his weekends dancing in skin-tight dresses, 
as a British woman named Samantha Fox. 

Samantha had existed just as long as
Samuel had known that he was queer.  
She came to life, one magical day when he 
looked in a mirror but instead of his reflection, 
she appeared. 

He turned up the speakers, 
blasting Aretha and Babs, 
as he sat down to paint. 
Priming his face for cake, 
he glued down his eyebrows, 
then let Samantha take the reins.

She sipped on a gin on tonic, 
as she applied foundation 
then contoured her face.  
Within minutes, Samuel disappeared, 
and Samantha sat in his place.

False eyelashes and acrylic nails 
were the final touches to her look.  
Samantha zipped herself into 
a revealing royal blue dress, 
then let her six-inch stiletto heels 
carry her off into the night.