Untitled #2

Written for a class poetry slam.

I may have lies behind my eyes but at least I try
To fake, to make a noise so resonant it’s acid on the soul.

This is my soul life…this isn’t a role life at its fullest.

I am the girl with the ink on the wall of the stall
Just trying…just trying to leave her mark.

Afraid.

Afraid that if she doesn’t they’ll forget…

I may bruise easily, but don’t think I confuse easily
The motions of the notions contained in the boundaries
Broken by “them.”

By “them” I mean the broken, those well-spoken
The children of the revolution.

I’ll be the dragonfly and you can be the pores
I’ll seep out of, I’ll leak out of onto the barbaric rooftops of the world.

This isn’t a page, this is a novel, in three parts.

One…don’t
Two…don’t forget
Three…don’t forget me.

I am lightening.  I am rain…my pillow knows that all too well.

Well?  You say you’re well?

Then do not ache, do not take for granted you’re a’s and x’s.

Would you hear me better if I spoke French
Or in the mess of your jest?

No…no…no…just…just let it rest.