Expectations.

It’s been a long journey, but the road twists on ahead

My mind is fairly tired from all the stories that I’ve read.

And through this travail, many troubles I have met.

But none have ever truly my lonesome path set.

While I am young, still in vigor, and brave at heart

I’ll still infuse my words with all the passion of my art.

Yet dark shadows come under a waning sun

Wondering if the battles I’ve fought were ever won.

I despaired then; I thought you loved me not

Saw not my struggles nor the demons that I fought.

How blinded was I under that nocturnal shade!

Not seeing the attempts of conciliation made.

Forgive me now, both friends and parents too,

for the apologies that I’ve said are between far and few.

Adieu, adieu, my arrogance I cast away

For all I expected was an apology’s delay.

Yet it was I at fault all along; my vision clouded, dim

Deaf ears turned upon each resounding hymn

Sung to me, to try and bring some sense in me

I laughed at this, thinking only of that apology.

How foolish I am, how bitter my thoughts

Now, tail between legs, as the lone wolf now trots.

Forgive me, for my expectations were wrong

and now I am sitting here writing this song.

A song of melancholy, depression, and hope

As I hang onto that last inch of rope.

I thought it was your expectations I feared

but how I saw clearly as my last hour neared

that it was my fault and ’twas mine alone

for bitterness and rage did I choose to enthrone.

Within this beating heart, this mortal composition

A mind bleeding poetry is its opposition.

At least it clears the rhythm, the beat

Cooling my head of all of my heat.

The inferno raged within; the blizzard blew out

Hot was my temper and piercing cold my doubt.

Expectations are expected, it’s what we do alive

but hearing forgiveness does make this heart thrive.

I’m sorry that I’ve brought you shame

that I’ve dishonored the family name,

But do forgive me one more time and see

that bright will be my destiny.

Doing Alright.

A razor blade of apprehension slicing through the air,

You worry about the future, too bad I’m already there.

You thought that it’d be bleak but I’m laughin’ at your thoughts

‘Cause before this I was clean without any of your spots.

Hold me down with a chain, treat me like a simple slave

Then blame me when I start to act up and misbehave?

That’s brave of you to do but only trouble will ensue

Because I’ll find a way with or without listening to you.

My future looks white as the snow that falls on mountains

My energy level high like it springs from youth fountains.

I weave out and in like the oldest veteran basketweaver

I don’t need you to talk, I just need and want a real believer.

Keep the faith strong as you long as you can keep it

And when the ledge grows shorter, then may I ask you to leap it?

A leap of faith through time to understand what I see and know

A simple test of character to see the friend and foe.

My future isn’t in your hands and it’s mosdef not in mine

‘cus the future really belongs to the one God divine.

Death and disability may try to come and plague me

but my faith in God alone is the thing that will save me.

My rhyme and my time, my breathing of the beat

the dryness of my mouth and my spitting of the heat.

Sahara desert, I’ve entered a real plateau

‘Cus i’ve said all I needed got nothin’ left to show.

God is with me and with each breath I will fight

to just convince you that everything will be alright.

So good night, the sky runs away from the approaching darkness

This contrast in lyricism comes with a reproaching starkness.

The beauty of the verse preserved by the rhythm,

the anguish of the house destroyed by the schism.

What could have been so great to have mangled this humble house?

Was it due to the silence in which you could hear a mouse?

No communication is what I’m spittin, ironically enough

But it’s okay for you and me because we’re both so tough?

No, it’s time to give up this grand facade

and realize we each other must applaud.

We put on many guises and deceived one another

But when it comes down to it, you’re still my blood mother.

A sister in the Church though we’re on different planes

But we have the same blood coursing through and in our veins.

So please, just communicate, it doesn’t hurt to talk.

I’ve broken my leg but I’m willing to walk the walk.

And when I’m asked how I am, I will say “alright,”

because in that single question my soul can take its flight.

Perception.

Despite my shortcomings and each bitter defeat,

your constant beseeching on endless repeat,

despite my laziness and lack of volition

and your public and private morale demolition,

I am not lost as it might seem to me and to you.

Seems, madam? Nay, it is; I know what to do.

What we see may become “seems” if motive lacks

and what seems will be so if our resolve suddenly cracks.

So, perception is a mysterious prism to my very own thought,

Bending the “light” onto havoc I’ve wrought.

Yet my perception and yours, though separate but the same

Are of varying depths and are “perceptions” only in name.

As for myself, I know not what I see

Or if I do, I wished it would not be.

But for yourself, who can know your mind?

Sometimes your anger does make you so blind

to the words you speak of cruel effect

until they render in me a disparaging defect.

What pressure is upon me, all the weight in the world

By each progression from your mouth that is hurled.

Perception is but a fancy of the mind

For vision is perfect when looking behind.

We are not seers, nor mystics, nor prophets for sure

Yet we are rooted in perceptions we conjure.

If vision be poor, our perceptions are rotted

For if there is no goal, less time is allotted.

So this puzzling dilemma comes through,

What are you seeing that’s not in my view?

Can you know the very core of my being

To claim that you know and see what I’m seeing?

If not, then kindly retreat to your station

As I move to make a bold proclamation.

You don’t fully know me despite these 17 years

17 months perhaps? No, 17 days, I fear

is an accurate portrayal of your knowledge of me,

17 minutes for me to utter an apology.

17 seconds is all it took

For you to say “leave,” leaving me shook.

Life is a harder path, trod on by many,

so why does it seem my load is so heavy?

Again with the seems, I own no such needle

to divine what great issue does at my mind wheedle.

To plant a thought of helplessness could be an inception,

To grant me your perception would be brutal deception.

Only God can Judge Me.

Today was, all in all, a rather strange day.  A typical senioritis-stricken student, I found myself losing focus more than normal; in each class, I’d slip quietly between the realm of the lecture at hand and some kind of oblivion within my consciousness.  And yet, these voyages were not without purpose.  During these periods of mental inactivity, a raging debate coursed through the spectrum of my mind, a paradox in itself.  Why was it that I kept on judging others based on their thoughts and vocalizations?  Was I superior to any of them?  I even found myself reproaching the Christian students even more than the non-believing students.  Yet, at the same time that I was meticulously examining my fellow students, wave after wave of self-loathing cascaded into an endless waterfall of shame.  We are all great sinners; to say otherwise would just be foolishness and an attempt at bolstering our prideful selves.  As I was thinking these thoughts, the song “Only God can Judge Me” by Tupac popped into my head and it was true: only God can judge us.  May we have lived lives worthy of His praise and glorifying Him, for if we haven’t, then we remain stuck in the limbo of effected faith and we are not letting Christ within take the reins of our lives.  At lunch, I was totally lost in the null zone and felt another thing as I absorbed the talk around me: emptiness.  For once, I understand what salty conversation was by an exposure to what terribly unseasoned conversation.  Yet again, that feeling that I was consciously placing myself in an exalted position crept up.  I sighed and looked skyward.  Nothing to do now, but let God judge us all.  Because after all, only God can judge us, only God can judge us now.

Quiet Time

 

With a heavy sigh, I stride into the room.

A soft light, cold ground, gentle

Scent of perfume.

On a white chair, I take my rest,

Thinking on who I am,

Breaths moving my chest.

The slow murmur of exertion

Escapes my throat;

Hands together, head down, just letting my thoughts

Float.

Perspiration dances on my brow,

A little more force, a bit

More strength.

To have enough force to go

The full length.

Murmurs grow to groans,

Groans to yells,

Breath filling my chest as

My stomach swells.

Finally, the deed is done,

With a sigh of relief, I relieve myself

Of the burden I have, and

Believe myself.

Face flushed, I flush

The cold bowl.

Breathing in peace, satisfaction made full.

I wash myself, cleansed of all waste;

Breathing is

Easy now, no strain on my waist.

Hands dry, I leave

The silent room,

Now a desolate place.

*Note: This is SUPPOSED to be a humorous piece; see if you can find out what I’m alluding to! 😉