Dreaming.

I have a dream that our fight for civil rights will not end in sleepless nights,
a fantasy that we can live in harmony with equality
acting as the bridge that connects you and me.
I dream of unity between man, woman and beast instead of
the hatred that manifests as violence erupting in the streets and under the sheets.
My reverie has been interrupted by the greed
that oppresses and hides in deceit filled fleets.
One ship prepared for battle and another for war,
as our chests heave with anger
until we have all become casualties of the rich,
though we remain poor.
This eye for an eye ideology has made the world blind,
forgiveness unheard of in a world where love has been left behind.
I had a dream that justice was real, that our hearts would stay open,
instead our blood has congealed.
Humanity, the only race, instead of
socially constructed labels we were assigned to keep us in our right place.
I have a dream one day man will be judged not by the colour of his skin
but by the content of his character;
loved for what was within and not just based on melanin.
I still believe in my dream, we have not fallen so far from grace that we cannot be saved.
My dream may one day still be a reality,
to lose faith in love would be like succumbing to insanity.
I have a dream thanks to a King who was dethroned by bigotry,
but whose legacy has paved the way for a boy like me to dare to even dream.

Escapism.

A coma would even be better than the reality that is my most skilled enemy.
Numb from anesthesia would be sweeter than being forced to cope.
Desensitized by sedatives so I could get some peace.
Dead man walking now that I've forgotten how to sleep.

My thoughts possess me making my skin crawl like my anxiety is composed of fleas.
I am my harshest critic when I ostracize myself for believing my own lies.
Always waiting for a new day to arrive although my sun refuses to rise.
Time was supposed to heal all wounds but cuts me instead, unwilling to let me rest.

Cancer would even be better on me as it would come equipped with pain that I could see.
Anguish from traumatic events are not tangible;
invisible to the world, so I feel it is an unworthy defense.
Suffering in this state is only understood by others privy to emotional pain.

If only it were simple to explain, and stigma was not saved for illnesses that exist inside our brains.
I was meant for so much more than this life defined by the obstacles that I have endured.
Not measured in success but rather by the duress that has
robbed me of any reason to feel accomplished.

Each lesson pulls me in a different direction
as I've tried everything from prayer to therapy in the hopes that I could somehow change my perception.
The only cure would be sanctuary from my emotions that are diseased.

I would love to be released from the insanity
that circles inside me like a merry go round that will not stop long enough to let me off.
Privileged to be born free, my own choices have imprisoned me;
the abuse I became used to set the ground for the decay that disparages my mind.

I went from hurting myself physically to chasing temporary highs
to mask the sorrows that are so easily drowned in ravines of red wine.
I beg of God to have mercy on my soul and take away the insomnia that invades me,
a cycle that never ceases to end.
My greatest conflict is to regain control of my life, which can only happen once I make amends with my past that I've condemned.

Atonement.

When I break, I fall like Autumn leaves the trees barren for the winter;
like a lover that has taken all it can before departing.
Beautiful to behold the spectacle right before I hit the floor, stripped bare.
All the reds reflected in my eyes, my ire overwhelming me with such arrogant anxiety.
Denied of you, the air, the oxygen that I had depended on to help me breathe,
my world becomes diseased and waits for winter's cold to numb the pain.
My blood has frozen inside me as the reaper waits restlessly through the delay caused by a deathbed made of sharp snow; such a contrast, to the softness of it when I was young and innocent still.
The pieces of me are scattered and on display for all to see and scrutinize.
I am brutally aware, for the first time, that I have spent my life waiting for a sun that refused to rise. My demise is imminent now that the seasons change;
a sobering reminder that life will always go on whether or not
I am inspired to evolve or resigned to rot.
The birds and the bees disappear as the streets become bare, a clear sign indicating the loneliness that is about to set in.
I scramble to find shelter from the abrasive cold that
relentlessly robs the lush green landscape of its clothing,
reducing it to spindly bones.
But in my haste, I have forgotten that I have no home,
as my soul sees its opportunity to leave and escapes through my blue lips,
excited to finally feel atoned.

Blood & Guts.

My high threshold for emotional pain became like anesthesia,
numbing me from the inside out as the contents of my soul had somehow developed amnesia.
I was filled with such ravenous rage that it tore my skin from my bone, like acid rain.
My heart was like a furnace overheating, desperate to silence my internal suffering that had become so scathing.
Wanting to be left alone to wallow in my maladaptive misery,
I let the ink stain my skin, just once,
in the hope that it would set me free from my artificial reality.
I was enslaved by my anger, as hostility reigned supreme inside of me, it was like cancer.
My tears were the permanent tattoos that no one could know,
my vulnerability made me feel weaker with each perceived blow to my ego.
Naive and perhaps a product of my environment
as I wrote blood and guts on my arm, in Japanese, as my eternal punishment.
It acts as a reminder now, a vigil of sorts to the hardened persona that is no more.
In his place is the lost and afraid little boy that raced towards a future that never materialized;
he cowers in fear now his only shield was revealed to be comprised of lies.
My tattoo, though macabre, is a testament to my faith in myself to always be held accountable.
It was unjust and in poor taste for me to play the victim for so long,
unwilling to accept that my own behaviour was wrong.
I now see the error that corroded me and have vowed to strive for change.
Through staring at my tattoo, I have gained the insight
and clarity that are helping me take the reins, an action that was long overdue.
Although I am still fallible, as humans are, I will not allow my demons to leave scars on my loved ones' hearts.