i wish the blood would flow up back into my heart, to take back what i gave you...
its harder to accept fate and faith and the intricacies of doing what it is we do...
having questions answered solves nothing, but questions drive me to find answers...
you, in the damaged receptacle that is me, pouring love through blood backwards...
and your heart indeed beats in my chest, so it pains me to give nothing in return...
it pains me to ask you to take back what you gave, love enslaved flares to burn...
every time i tell myself, commit myself, but ideas of true love leave me cynical...
i say its me, but the truth is its us, and to love us would take a divine miracle...

-wrestling with angels-

maybe its my egocentric nature, so i apologize, i am an only son...
abandoned and lost by those who call me child, but found by one...
deemed a bastard before i was born, their eyes reflecting hatred...
birthed naked and was never fully clothed, insecurities unabated...
fathered by a true love that ive seen withered away by disease...
inspired by a passion that hung itself, relenting to his miseries...
found significance poured tears, and strength enough to admit it...
found deliverance in realizing that my actions were indeed wicked...
knew closest friends who killed each other for each others hustle...
a man murdered on a corner for 12 dollars, his different struggle...
seen a blind man receive healing to see that he didnt miss much...
and realized that to heal pain only requires a loved ones touch...
a barrage of emotions has led me to a place i can not yet reach...
a collage of my life, mosaic of what i have been taught to teach...
ive seen busses used as fiery barricades in cities far down south...
for a revolution witnessed by my own eyes, led by word of mouth...
seen mountainsides of mango trees and walked bustling city streets...
seen federal police in third world countries riot in their sleep...
been in trains, flew over expansive waters pictures cant capture...
in back of cop cars with fear, rode shotgun backwards in laughter...
fell in dark places where i found helping hands to pick me up...
lopsided heart, birthmark symbolizing my past of unrequited love...
my feet have met soil from the world and still craves for more...
and my skin has felt the stickiness of louisiana from before...
my hands have grazed a womans face and raised a joyous praise...
my heart has seen the lord, not by my eyes but through his grace...
the trouble of it all is to define experience with poetic tact...
but the story of my life is mine to tell, and for you to react...

-self/centered-