My most prized possession is hidden under flesh, veins, muscle, and bone.
If my enemy can transcend these entities and uplift my onion layers of ebony I’ll combat him with my soul.
See there’s nothing left to give when the body is gone. Every organ can’t function on its own more importantly my heart needs a pulse.
And without the flow of poetry thriving throughout my ligaments I become addicted to another drug fixating on my dependency hoping to feel that same rush.
But no drug counteracts the high of words smoked from a conscience and blown over nonsense reviving the mentality of otherwise invalids, evaporating into irrelevance.
The only interjection placed here is the comma that reminds me behind my love of spoken word is love itself and my heart doesn’t pulse for merely the sake of health. This is my creation I’ve sheltered it from the world and valued at a rate more precious than gold no man, as deemed by myself, will ever get close.
I’ve placed traps in the aorta and poison in the pulmonary vein in case he was smart enough to escape my maze. The left and right ventricles are shackled to my rib cage as arteries are blocked with cement covered in blood stains.
Too many have tried to take a crack at it and submersed in my complexity become crack addicts fiending for that first taste of my soul. And that, that is the very reason they’ll never ever reach their goal.
I’m too in love with myself to be won over without struggle. Yet sometimes I wonder…when do I ask too much? Or is there such a thing?
I cheated on poetry with the fantasy of loving you. And honestly, love, I’m not ready to encounter you. I get lonely, I do, but the pen has always eradicated my desire. To my surprise the pen spelled your name as if it knew. Trying to tell me that without the full completion of God’s ordinance I can't give myself unto these words entirely. Because I can’t write about something I love without having love inside me.
It’s not as simple as taking off the screws and unlocking the hinge that contracts my beating vessel I have other emotions that will escape if not properly nestled.
I’ve hated a man for so long that I forgot how to spell love or sound out the consonance and I’ve envied other people so hard that I lost myself in their dominance plus I’ve lusted for images of wealth so much that I devalued my common sense while yearning for something so artificial I myself became counterfeit. And none of it cost me more than the freedom of my heart beat.
My most prized possession is hidden under flesh, veins, muscle, and bone.
If my enemy can transcend these entities and uplift my onion layers of ebony maybe I wont combat him with my soul.
Maybe instead….I’ll hand him a stethoscope.
