Lens taking lessons from eyes (18th b@tch -iii)

As we walk these streets, mine and yours, the streets are ours.

Like the dope beats that we produced.

The rhythms. The –

Stop. I made a mistake.

No editing over ok.

Let the mistake be seen here now.

Otherwise how will you know I am human?

This your personal captcha.

I gotta build your trust. I wanna.

At least today.

I want the relationship in our fantasy to be sorta real but not exactly.

I have only one chance to get to intrigue.

I am excited like a heart in oxygenated blood. Like a come on before an orgasm.

The lens taking lessons from the eyes.

The ones who keep trying after so many tries.

Cause who would I be to simply cast a darkness around myself with my thoughts?

Who would I be if I grasped only the egocentric mind?

Writing checks cannot be cashed.

The divinity so mined.

The one I emulate. My deep model.

Singing all the harmony right off the glass bottle.

Anytime or three am, any night.

I used to manifest her, and feel all right.

Its okay to just say that you don’t know yourself so perfect yet, either.

Truth is you never know.

Self is not one fixed thought or interval. No.

And this is my opinion.

You can love it to death and cook it in a broth of onions you pulled from the ground.

Feels good when you commit.

Have you done so lately?

This is not a demand or an opportunity to embarrass you taken.

It is ok if you think so.

Then tell me somehow. If you can.

My feelings are my feelings.

Please.

I ask only that you be as honest as you can.

Dear me.

Such a brief intersection, our lives.

I wanna know you.

Well enough to help you with a little something or other.

Take off some of your burden.

For I see that you are aching.

Cause I know this particular iradescent-type

Quality.

them (us)

Union. Ivy. blueblood. aristocracy. old money. brownstone townhouses. this my inheritance.  lakes region retreats. soft, sensitive, privileged big feet. don’t require a crosswalk to get across the street. just a cashmere wrapped waist of floral watercolors would arrest them. skidding to a stop to let them pass by. i guess to let us pass by. nobody could replace them. nobody could replace us. in the history books all over the many and diverse states of america, no uprising, uproar nor campaign could erase them. erase us. not now, atleast.

So privileged yet diminished was i, young, with a voice not yet heard, and when heard, silenced often if not quickly. youngest of my tribe, i would need evocative presentation to capture their imagination. early on i learned needed to grip their hearts with fear. not only would i come out liberal, i would also come out like fluid on identity continuums.

Halloween? easily my favorite of holidays all year. tp the trees. smashing pumpkins all over the place.  stealing candy left out in trays by out-of-towners.  upscale hoods. haunted houses get egged. fake cemeteries. blindfolded with hands in spaghetti in popcorn bowls we took for nightcrawlers. for goodness grace. i took it all in, the freaks in the streets. the costumes. on any other day, the question would confront me. Why or how was i so out of place?