I was blessed with the ability to preach the word,
but I was never an evangelist.
Actively engaged in promoting social change,
but my methods are not safe enough
to be considered an activist.
I take heed to advice,
but I respond negatively
when someone tries to breach this establishment.
So then they labeled me with “rage mismanagement,”
with claims that I can’t handle it
because my emotions are one of my disadvantages.
Unable to compensate for the damages,
I guess it repeatedly caused issues.
Words cocked back into verbal pistols,
Ready to unleash rounds of built-up stress
and confused thoughts onto anything that bristled.
This isn’t just some random tantrum
that I’m supposed to sit through;
it’s something I can’t bear for too long.
You are addressing someone
who has been overly manipulated,
so I don’t care for too long.
People will always try to get over on you.
I know—I have been aware for too long.
Now, I have a mean mug so vicious
that the sun is even advised
not to stare for too long.
Come test me if you feel lucky.
I will tap into the other side of the spectrum
and expose you to a pain
that no living organism needs to witness—trust me.
This isn’t just a fluctuation of feelings
that is supposed to come out as funny…
I say prayers over this.
I established a solid foundation of suffering from my childhood,
so I have to put layers over it.
And now I never get scared over shit,
so it initiates my hormones to bring out the danger.
A few skeletons are in my closet,
and I will never remove them from the hanger.
I take a look at the person that I used to be;
I now recognize that individual as a stranger
with blood elevating from the bottom of my feet
at 212 degrees
as I struggle to keep down the anger.
If you reduce the heat,
then I can put a lid over my boiling pot
because I have a demon
that’s starving for attention,
and momentarily I am going to spoil him rotten.
You continue to push my buttons,
thinking that this is something of nothing,
but deep down,
you will find out that it’s not,
if you go around trying to pull people’s trigger,
eventually there’s a chance you are going to get shot…
Poetry 